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Class TS35Z5 

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 


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THE RING OF LOVE 

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The Ring of Love 

AND OTHER POEMS 


BY 

BROOKES MORE 

Author of “The Beggar's Vision," “Sweet Maggie McGee" 
“Songs of a Red Cross Nurse," 

“ Ovid’s Metamorphoses, in English Blank Verse." 


Illustrated by 

TRACY PORTER RUDD 

AND 

LEWIS PERRY 




THE CORNHILL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

BOSTON 





f5 3 6-2. s~ 

/9Z.3 


COPTRIGHT, 1923 
Bt BROOKES MORE 


Printed in the United States of America 


THE JORDAN & MORE PRESS 
BOSTON 


DEC iG 1923 


©CU7C6545 


rVVO I 


TO 

ifflargaret 

TENDER AND TRUE 
PEARL 
OF MT 

RING OF LOVE 





CONTENTS 


Fashion in Art — A Brief Criticism .... 1 

The Ring of Love — Lyric Sequence .... 7 

Silence and True Love — Essay in Blank Verse. 27 

The Last Vigil — Elegy .41 

Frailty — Sonnet , Elizabethan Form .... 50 

PATTERNS FOR POETS ... 53 

Silence and Hope — Sestina .67 

Pearls of Hope — Sonnet {Italian Form )... 69 

Sweetest, Fairest — Triolet .70 

Love or Wine, Part I — Villanelle .... 71 

Love or Wine, Part II — Villanelle , Doubled . 73 

Sallie Slapped Me — Rondeau .75 

Contradiction — Rondel .76 

Bitter-Sweet — Pantoum .77 

Wright — Valentine , Vers de socteti .... 79 
I’m Mad at the World — Rondeau ... .80 

Elfin Knight — Ballade .81 

The Nautical Ballad of Ben Bo Bohns — Ballad 85 

Consequence — Song .89 

A Tropic Idyl — Lyric .90 

To Love Divine — Ode .91 

The Hermit — Sonnet {Italian Form ) .... 93 












CONTENTS — CONTINUED 


A SENTIMENTAL SERIES . . 95 

Come Back.97 

The Loveliest Bud.97 

Red Roses . 99 

Secret Wings.100 

A Bit of Lace.101 

Little Witch.102 

At Last.103 

Pure and Sweet {Heine) .104 

Down the Lane.105 

My White Rose.106 

Swing in the Moonlight.107 

A Memory.109 

Diplomatic.110 

Forget-me-not {Goethe) .Ill 

It Must Be So — Rhapsody .112 

Who Return s ? — Narrative .117 

The Lover’s Rosary.121 

Apology.123 

Part I — Pearls.125 

Part II — Ashes. 159 

Index of Poetical Forms.191 






















ALPHABETICAL CONTENTS 


PAGE 

A Memory — Lyric .109 

At Last — Lyric .103 

A Tropic Idyl — Lyric .90 

Ben Bo Bohns, The Nautical Ballad of ... 85 

Bit of Lace, A — Lyric . 101 

Bitter Sweet — Pantoum .77 

Come Back — Lyric .97 

Consequence — Song .89 

Contradiction — Rondel .76 

Diplomatic — Lyric . 110 

Down the Lane — Lyric .105 

Elfin Knight — Ballade .81 

Fashion in Art — Criticism . 1 

F orget-me-not — Lyric .Ill 

Frailty — Sonnet, Elizabethan Form .50 

Hermit, The — Sonnet .93 

I’m Mad at the World — Rondeau .80 

Index of Poetical Forms.191 

It Must Be So — Rhapsody . 112 

Last Vigil, The — Blegy . 41 

Little Witch — Lyric .102 

Love Divine, To — Ode .91 

Loveliest Bud, The — Lyric .97 

Love or Wine— Villanelle .71 

Lover’s Rosary, The — Sonnet Sequence . . . . 121 























ALPHABETICAL CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Memory, A — Lyric .109 

My* White Rose — Lyric .106 

Nautical Ballad of Ben Bo Bohns, The .... 85 

Ode to Love Divine.91 

Patterns for Poets.53 

Pearls of Hope — Sonnet .69 

Pure and Sweet — Lyric .104- 

Red Roses — Lyric .99 

Ring of Love, The — Lyric Sequence . 7 

Sallie Slapped Me — Rondeau .75 

Secret Wings — Lyric ..100 

Silence and Hope —i Sestina .67 

Silence and True Love — Blank Verse .... 27 

Sweetest, Fairest —Triolet .70 

Swing in the Moonlight — Lyric .107 

The Hermit — Sonnet .93 

The Last Vigil — Elegy .41 

The Loveliest Bud — Lyric .97 

The Lover’s Rosary —Sonnet Sequence .... 121 

The Nautical Ballad of Ben Bo Bohns — Ballad . 85 

The Ring of Love — Lyric Sequence . 7 

To Love Divine — Ode .91 

Tropic Idyl, A — Lyric .90 

Who Returns ? — Narrative . 117 

Wright —Vers de Societe .79 





















ILLUSTRATIONS — ENGRAVINGS 


PAGE 

Portrait.Frontispiece 


“Between me and the light it seems to move/’ 
Last Vigil. 

The 

41 ^ 

“Aurora, opulent in rainbow dyes,” The Last Vigil 

47- 

Wright (facsimile author’s handwriting) . 

. 

79 

“I’m Mad at the World” (facsimile author’s 
writing). 

hand- 

80 

. . . “In some Dream Aiden She wanders —” 
Sonnet XXXI — The Lover’s Rosary . 


157 - 

“So when a lovely soul unfolds her wing” — 
Sonnet LIII — The Lover’s Rosary . 


182 









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FASHION IN ART 


Perhaps Art is subject to the whims of Fashion; and 
just as we have periods of grotesquely fashioned attire, 
so we have intervals when foolish fashions prevail in the 
Arts; as, Cubist and Futurist Paintings, Imagist 
Poetry, and Vers Libre, or Free Verse, with various 
other decadent forms: and, perhaps, we should include 
(though less foolish), the stilted imitators of Dry den 
and Alexander Pope. 

What I have designated as decadent and foolish 
schools of Poetry and Art, have usually been occa¬ 
sioned by a revolt of the masses from some established 
method, or some peculiar style; which, on account of its 
own popularity has become too common: as, at present 
we are suffering from a revolt against what has been 
termed “ The Victorian Era in Poetry ”; and many of 
our modern poets, in their eager desire of originality, are 
neglecting and repudiating all that the past two thousand 
years has discovered concerning the laws of beauty, 
grandeur, music and knowledge; and in their mad 
endeavours to out-freak Frivolity have established a 
claque to howl for themselves and Walt Whitman; in 


1 


FASHION IN ART 


the vain hope that noise and assertive mendacity may 
exalt their puny efforts above Shakespeare, Milton, 
Keats, Shelly, Byron, Tennyson, Poe and all the im¬ 
mortals, and we include, without fear, the principal 
butt of their egotistical folly, the master of a certain 
form, Alexander Pope. 

If a dispassionate view be taken of the fundamental 
cause which has led to this decadence in American 
Literature, we must be convinced, that the demand for 
lyrics, fit for the corners of our popularity-serving 
periodicals, has created a vast number of mediocre 
poets, whose self-interest it is to decry the value of 
difficult poetical forms; because they are incapable of 
original production, or even the imitation of artistic 
creations equal to such as have been inherited from the 
genius of the past. 

Undismayed by such temporary insanities, I have 
not hesitated to publish this book, in which I have used 
many of the most difficult, and most beautiful metrical 
forms that have been given by the great masters of our 
language: and, I am convinced, if this endeavour prove 
distasteful to serious and cultivated minds, it will not be 
a proof that the world has repudiated beauty and the 
purest forms of art; but such a failure will only prove 


2 


FASHION IN ART 


my ability measured not up to the difficulty of the 
task, that has been deliberately assumed. 

For such critics who imagine that originality can only 
be compassed by the use of frivolous phrases, and jazzy 
dissonances, mis-called “ Polyphonic Cadences,” for 
such, I have no word of defense or apology; but my 
apprehensions are real at such times as I consider the 
voice of an unspoiled, intellectual minority; who, from 
the very nature of this production, may, perhaps, com¬ 
pare that which I have offered, with the great works of 
those I have mentioned, and whose genius I adore. 

Brookes More. 


3 






































THE RING OF LOVE 
A Lyric Sequence 



THE RING OF LOVE 


i 

By now I thought this April night 
Should be as black as pitch, 

That I might sleep and dream of you, 
My little sweeting — witch. 


Look,— how the late Moon squints an eye. 
And slants her flattened head; 

She thinks it sport to flaunt at sleep, 

When she should be abed. 


7 


THE RING OF LOVE 


II 

Who is it that the spring-time loves, 
When birds and winds are singing? 
And who is it loves the sun-kist May, 
That all sweet birds is bringing? 


Who is it but my Goldenhair? — 
Her eyes are shyly sweet; 

She steps with pretty motion where 
All these are sure to meet. 


hi 

I went into the garden — O my sweet! 

Gathered flowers for you; — 

Weep into their loveliness. 

Fill their cups with dew. 


8 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Love them, cherish, worship — O my darling! 

Few their precious hours; 

All the gold that never fades 
Is not so loved as flowers. 


In gardens of the wide world — O my heart-love! 

All I love is you; — 

Time never cares, has no pity; 

The days of love, so few! 


rv 

Open your window, 

The night-bird sings, 

The Love-star soon will set; 
What is the message 
True love brings — 
Goldenhair — 

How can your heart forget? 


9 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Look out the window! — 
Spangled in jet, 

Stars were never so bright! 
What is the reason 
Hearts forget? — 
Grey-blue-eyes — 

Have you forgot the night? 


v 

Tears, tears, the minted coins of Love! 

So you have bought me Grey-blue-eyes! — 
If I but argue on the cause, 

Always, my dull wit denies. 


If your slipped pearls bear such a price, 
What must your smiles command? 

The more I think of your dear ways, 
The less I understand. 


10 


THE RING OF LOVE 


VI 

What is the reason, Grey-blue-eyes, 
You look at me so vicious? 

I believe it’s all for kisses, dear, — 
You are so avaricious. 


One, two, — a kiss for each. 
Scornful glances got them! 

This is three, to stop your lips, — 
Pretty poutings bought them! 


VII 

All in the magic of the east, 

Where history is old, 

’Tis there the rogue Sun gathers up 
A store of yellow gold! 


He dazzles in that pilfered wealth 
Those drowsy, nodding bells; 


11 


THE RING OF LOVE 


For why? to cool his raging thirst 
In wines of faery wells. 


Oh, shut that window, Goldenhair, 
The hot, hot Sun is winking! 
Why should he scatter gold on you 
While he is tipsied, drinking? 


VIII 

When drowsy eyelids of the night 
Wink in the nodding trees. 

Out in the still night you may hear 
Echoes of music, — 

Sweet in the sleeping breeze. 


My love it is, she loves the dark, 
The tall trees overhead; — 

She carries in her eyes the dawn; — 
Music must follow 
The ways her steps are led. 


12 


THE RING OF LOVE 


IX 

Awake! awake, my Goldenhair! 

What tells of death but dreaming? — 
Oh, look! the gay Sun edges up; 

The pomp of day is gleaming. 


I know a lush lawn where the bees 
Hunt clover and the bluet; 

I know a sweeter nook of flowers — 
Much sweeter, if they knew it! 


Awake! my darling, Grey-blue-eyes; 

My soul is sick of waiting! 

It is a crime to lie abed 

When all the birds are mating! 


Open your windows, Grey-blue-eyes! 

True-Love awaits to woo them — 
See, the sweet windows of the skies! 
The hot Sun hurries to them! 


13 


THE RING OF LOVE 


x 

Look, — the window, O my heart! 

A golden head is peeping! — 
Grey-blue-eyes — shyly hid — 
Pretend that you are sleeping! — 


Shame upon you, little birds; 

Shame on your pretty voices; 

For why? here comes my Goldenhair 
While all the morn rejoices. 


XI 

Love in a wild-eye-phrensy, 

Wanders up and down! 

What, in the world, has vexed him ? 
Love in a pout and frown! 


Under a wild-wood tree, 
Stretched on a bed of moss; 
Two is better than three, — 
Kissing and limbs across! 


14 . 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Join, then! sweet Love! — make two, three — 
Three must love delay — 

Love with two — and two are three; 

Wella — wella — way! — 


XII 

Blushes are tattlers to the world, 
Much tampered in frank innocence; 
But something in a virgin’s smile 
Gives to the wicked no pretence. 


Who can prescribe such medicine 
Shall purge lewd man of all that’s vile? 
Pause but a moment, in the front of Sin, 
Whisper to thy heart this prayer; 

“ Dear God, it surely would be best 
If this pure girl, my Goldenhair, 
Purchased her safety in Thy rest.” 


15 


THE RING OF LOVE 


XIII 

Who is sick of Death, 

Pause, and tell me why! 
Sweet must end if bitter live, 
Love, too true, must die. 


Play with me old Death; 

Play in a posie ring! 

Grim old Death! — Sad young Life 
Weep, and Death will sing! 


Rings of Love begin 

After birth — and die — 

Love begins when love has end — 
Love; and tell me why. 


XIV 

Jolly and merry, 

The pipers go; 

And the birds are all singing, — 
They love it so. 


16 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Snare-drums are beating 
A ratta tip tap, 

And any street-urchin 
May toss up his cap. 

All the jazz music, 

As well as the sweet, 
Is all to my liking 
At Goldenhair’s feet. 


xv 

Why sit you beneath the lamp, 
Reading a book of ditties? 

There is no maid in all the land, 
In all our teeming cities, 

True to song as you. 

Open your grey-blue eyes. 
Search in your true heart; 

Look, — in your heart lies 
The song that I love best — 
Singing in that sweet nest. 


17 


THE RING OF LOVE 


xyi * 

I wandered in a thousand books 
Of love and poesy, 

And marveled, in their ways of words, 
What love was there for me. 

All the most lovely things of earth 
Worship give to Love; 

How can I hope my Goldenhair 
Might worship me thereof? 

Who that has known the tears of life 
Can say Love’s way is kind? 

The voice of every day declares 
Both Love and Fate are blind. 


XVII 

The dearest of all songs, 

Any world has heard, 

What is it to the voice of you — 
Sweet as any bird! 


18 


THE RING OF LOVE 


I stand to hear your voice, 

Looking in your eyes; 

I stand — I hear no song — no sound, 
For the light that in you lies. 


A dear form of God’s light 
Is in the heart of you — 

Lift up, oh lift those grey-blue eyes. 
Let the God-light through! 


XVIII 

Pain is nothing to me; 

Love must a nothing be! 

Fly from me Love; stay sweet Pain! 
Come to me Love, and weep again. 


‘ O sad dove why do you mourn, 
Your breast against a thorn? * 
If love is truly in your nest 
Pain is not in your breast. 


19 


THE RING OF LOVE 


O sweet bird! why do you sing 
And flutter your crimson wing? 
Tell me, then, can it be true 
Love is faithful to you? 


XIX 

We used to speak of angels, 
And worship them in prayer; 
We pictured them of radiance, 
Beheld them everywhere. 


How often have we argued 
Upon the truth of it, 

Until our faith could witness 
Soft wings around us flit. 


Blest are those days of wonder 
When Faith established Truth; 
When Youth could worship Old Age, 
And Age could temper Youth. 


20 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Those days are gone forever; — 
Faith first is lost in doubt, 
Then Doubt is lost in wonders, 
Invention ferrets out. 


The air supports vast engines, 
May carry me to you; — 
My whispers in charged ethers 
May sigh a love-song true. 


Directed sparks of lightning, 

Through singing threads of wire, 
Knit distant hearts together. 

And kindle love to fire. 


There is no doubt of angels, — 
Believe on all such things; 
The air is full of spirits, 

And swiftly moving wings. 


21 


THE RING OF LOVE 


xx 

What saucy and ambitious devil 
May dance the ring of love within! 
Oh, let no falsity of logic 

Convince you to the lust of sin! 


There is no health in Love-Deception, 
Its life is but a mask of death; 

The simple truth and simple honour 
Are jewels in the child of breath. 


Observe your pledge in pure devotion. 
Yourself demands good faith of you; 
And yours of love is knit within you. 
So be it that your love is true. 


XXI 

Balance your merchandise of jewels 
Against frail Innocence! 

What is the diamond, what is the pearl, 
Emblazoned in Pretence? — 


22 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Lock the dear cabinet of your heart, 
Hide the rich jewel there; 

Let no one pilfer your true wealth, — 
Grey-blue-eyes, Goldenhair! 


Look, — who infest our city streets, 
Whose jewels have been lost; 

There is no care-free heart of all 
That living holocaust — 

In counterfeit of mirth, their laugh 
Is scorched in poisoned breath; 

The ready smile upon their lips. 
Beckons the way to death. 

It is that chastity of mind 
You have enthralled me with; 

You are a dream of some old day. 
Wrapped in a sacred myth! — 

It is a strange word I have said, 

“ A dream of some old day! ” 

And you so young, so beautiful — 

A vase of dainty clay. 


23 


THE RING OF LOVE 


I cannot speak of you as, “ thou,” 
In fashion of old times; 

And all that ancient flavour fails 
To mingle in my rhymes: 

And yet, God knows it is the truth, 
When you are gay and free, 

You have an air that plainly says, 

“ Hands off, sir, let me be! ” 


This artless, artful method mixed 
In your sweet sympathies. 

Has so befevered my poor wits, 
With down-right lunacies, 

That I entreat you, gentle soul, 

If I have been too free, 

Remember, I am but a man — 
Forget, — and pardon me. 


24 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 






SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


To my beloved friend , Hon. William A. Falconer , whose 

manuscript translation , u Silence, ” inspired this. 

Oh let us in our adoration raise 
An altar unto Silence, under whose 
Inspiring wings immortal hopes are brought 
Majestically perfect to the light, 

Surrounding life, and which they dominate. 

Not William only was the silent one, 

But all mankind, whose deeds are worthy note. 
While secretly their hands and brains create: 
Then why should we perplex our little hour. 
With vacillating speech, if but a day 
In quiet thought may make our duty clear? 

The silent moments with a faery skill, — 
Mute workmen in the mental universe, — 
Build palaces that angels may enjoy. 

If speech is silver, silence is pure gold — 
Speech is of time but silence is of God. 


27 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Doth not the honey-insect in the dark 
With secret effort store its precious gain? 
Thought labours in the silence of the night. 

And gives to virtue that which virtue grants. 

Alas, too often speech is not for truth, 

But trippingly is given from the tongue 
To hide a doubtful action; and a maze 
Of many words may stifle helpful thought. 

Be not deceived; speech cannot ever serve 
The true communion of two loving souls; 

For as the numbers in a printed list 
May designate creations of true art, 

But give no satisfaction to the soul — 

Deprived sweet visions of transcendent forms — 
So, speech may catalog a list of love. 

But silence breathes the beauty of the heart. 

Beware, if in the moments of such dear 
Communion, you resist the secret call 
That in your breast, insistent and unseen. 
Commands your hallowed efforts! You may lose 


28 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


A greater treasure than the wit of man 
Has ever gathered from unfathomed seas; 

For so is cast away the secret love 
Of an eternal soul, and lost the true 
Existence of your own, which not again 
May feel the holy calm that silence gives. 

Speech is our medium when life is naught — 

In the sad moments when we do not wish to know 
Or love our brothers, it is used to hide 
Our misconceptions, when we feel ourselves 
Most insincere, and far away from truth: 

And every time we speak, strange feelings warn 
That gates divine have closed against our souls — 
And so our minds keep avaricious guard 
Over a golden silence; but imprudent tongues 
Are lavish spenders of their poverty. 

A superhuman instinct of the truth, 

Has ever warned us it is hazardous 
To keep a silent tryst with sordid souls — 

Uncared for and not loved — for as the wind 
That comes and goes, but leaves no serious trace; 


29 


THE RING OF LOVE 


So, idly, words may pass from man to man. 

But silence, that with subtle motion glides 
From heart to soul, may never be forgot. 

A life that’s beautiful and true — the life 
Alone that lives enduringly — is made 
Of silence only. In your quiet hours — 

When thought may only come — consider then 
That silence may give knowlege of itself; 

And if your constant mind an instant may 
Descend, deep in your own soul, to that depth 
Where angels may inhabit, — over all 
The recollections of the one most loved 
Are surely not his gestures or his words; 

But memory will recall the silent hours 

That you and he so long have lived and loved. — 

It is the silent moments you have passed, 

That can alone reveal the quality 
Of your affections, and your soul’s desires. 

But such is not the passive lassitude 
That some mistake for active silence. — We 
Are not concerned with futile phantasies, 


30 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


Or silence in the guise of sleep or death: 

An active silence may appear to sleep, 

And if quiescent be preferred to speech; 

But when some master passion stirs it up, 

Then as a king it reigns in royal state. 

How often are we forced against our will 
Where evil passions reign? When two or three 
Have met together they at once conspire 
To quell their enemy, invisible; 

For many a friendship has no other bond 
Than hatred of the silence that should be 
The cherished medium of sincere esteem. 

But if, in spite of every effort made, 

It glides among the vicious, who have met 
In purposed folly wickedness to vent, 

They will avert their shifting eyes from things 
Above their vision: they will slink away 
From their unseemly riot — giving place 
To that unseen superior: — they will shun 
Each other in the future, for the fear 


31 


THE RING OF LOVE 


That ribald laughter is a mask to hide 
The treachery that lurks on noisy tongues. 

The rabble seldom understand its worth; 

Yet even they may welcome, at a time 
In their misguided lives, that quiet host — 

But only when some solemn circumstance 
Has opened to their clouded vision scenes 
Almost divine. The most depraved may feel 
Some moments, during their down-trodden lives 
When they may guess what only Gods can know. 

Look backward to the day when fearlessly 
You first communed with Silence. — Solemn thoughts 
Were throbbing in your breast. You saw beneath 
The mist, that had enveloped you, a deep 
Abysmal valley, — and of which none speaks; — 
There, looking on that inner sea of light, 

Or gazing in that chasm of despair. 

Your eyes would neither dazzling turn nor flinch. 

It was when after weary wandering, 

Your footsteps led you home, or at the hour 


32 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


When you must sever from the ones you love, 
Or when a mighty joy exalted you, 

Or on the threshold of great misery, 

Or in the presence of untimely death. 

Consider the blest moments when the jewels. 
Unestimated values, were revealed; 

Or when the sleeping verities awoke 
To sudden rapture; tell me truly, then, 

If Silence was not like the smile of God? 

And if Misfortune followed, — with soft wings 
She did not seem to buffet, but with kind 
Caresses only kissed the tears away: 

At such a moment silence is thrice blest, 

And those who suffer from misfortune most 
Are they whose hearts are nearest the divine. 


They, only, know on what unfathomed seas 
The fragile bark of daily life is steered — 
Their ways have led them closely unto God; 


33 


THE RING OF LOVE 


And when they journey on the shores of light, 

Their faithful footprints never shall be lost. 

Tremendous in extent, there is no power 
To measure it; and whether of the king- 
Or slave, or in the presence of sad death, 

Or grief, or love, it ever is the same. 

The secrets of its ways are never lost; 

For if the first-born man should meet the last 
To dwell upon the earth, its hidden wealth 
Would be as adequate and just the same — 

And always through the ages. — They would meet 
And look in silence — kisses, terrors, tears, 

Despite the lapse of uncomputed time, 

Would have unchanged effect; and they would know 
Each other’s inmost hearts, as certainly 
As if from childhood their soft limbs were twined 
Together in one cradle — linked in love. 

If you should truly wish to give yourself 
To some dear friend, or loved one, let your lips 
Forget to speak; but if a subtle fear 


34 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


Unnerve you, — lest that feeling is the sign 
Of a compelling love, not satisfied, — 

Beware and shun him; rather flee from such 
Discordant company; because your heart 
Already has been warned of something wrong. 

The hour of silence surely comes to us; 

It is the sun of love; and as our sun of light 
Makes luscious all the healthful fruits of earth, 
So, when that silence shines upon our hearts, 

It ripens fruits that give immortal joy. 


Some mingling must take place — we know not where — 
The fountains of our silence are removed 
Far from the streams of reason; for two souls, 

Of equal poise and lovable, may clash 
In hostile silence, struggling to the death; 

Whereas, a virgin and a galley-slave 
In dearest harmony, of that great power, 

May join their spirits by the purest bond. 


35 


THE RING OF LOVE 


It cannot be foreseen, but as the clouds. 

That gather without warning in the sky 

And send through darkened space quick threads of light; 

So, spreads around and hovers over us, 

That mystery of silence out of which 
Undreamed of powers may emanate and flow: — 

Should that explain why tender lovers wait, 

Delaying to the utmost that great day 
When that revealer of the hidden life 
Must enter their existence, and expel 
The clouds of misconceptions, that have held 
Their souls so long in duress of dark night? 

And even the frivolous are gently led. 

By true love, to the center of sweet life; 

By which existence shall be worth to them 
The value of the Gods, that is enclosed 
In their divine first silence; but if they 
Should fail to knit their hearts together, when 
It beckons unto them, how shall they know 
Its wealth and value? It will never change. 

It is today the same as yesterday. 


36 


SILENCE AND TRUE LOVE 


The strangest, most unlikely things take place 
According to some law, not understood, 

Of which no word is spoken, and of which 
We do not even think; but deep within 
Our hearts a quiet understanding dwells 
That must inform us. Silence is the cause. 

It is not open to keen arguments; 

For every agitation of a soul, alert, 

And on its guard, becomes an obstacle 
Against the inner life, that is concealed 
Within this secret. And to know realities. 

This active silence must be rightly used 
Among each other; for in it shall bloom, 
Though seldom, fragrant, unexpected flowers, 
Eternal, changeable and variant in form 
And colour, in accordance to the soul 
That blossoms in its own dear nourishment. 

Is not the weight of gold and silver found 
By balancing in water which is pure? 

So, the true value of each spoken word 


37 


THE RING OF LOVE 


Is ascertained by the surrounding grace 
That radiates from silence. — Let me voice 
My love in chosen phrases, it will not 
Be valued more than long forgotten words, 
That have been babbled in a thousand ways 
But let that silence follow my weak words, 
And, if indeed I love, the thought of it 
Will sink so deeply to the root of joy, 

That life will never equal it again. 


38 


THE LAST VIGIL 






' 




































































































































THE LAST VIGIL 

ELEGY 

To, The Dear Inspiration, Departed — 

1 . 

Is it a strange delusion, that I seem 
To feel a shadowy presence moving here. 

And all so quiet? — Is it not a dream?- 

No ghostly apparition doth appear, 


Appear as tales of olden days declare; — 
But, surely, in this silent room, tonight, 

A subtle feeling steals upon the air; 

A phantom shape between me and the light; 


Light-misted, as a shadow seems to move. 
And hover in the sad-hushed atmosphere, 
Above, around me, — over my lost love, 
Whose form is ready to be moved from here. 


4,1 


THE RING OF LOVE 


2 . 

Even as I watch, in this grief-laden air 
The failing fragrance of cut flowers intrudes 
On saddened reveries of life when fair. 

When love was perfect. — Ah, my sad heart broods, 


Broods on the joys of those remembered hours, 
Remembered joys that now compel my woe. 
While steals upon me the sad breath of flowers, 
Breathing and dying. — Can it, then, be so. 


So, that the soul of her I watch and love. 

May linger in the hushed air of this room; 

May touch, caress me, as the lilies move 

And shed their short lives in this hallowed gloom? 


42 


THE LAST VIGIL 


3 . 

Short lives that fade upon the fading hours! — 
Even as they fade, each lingering breeze retains 
Souls of their beauty — spirits of sweet flowers — 
Fading upon the fragrance that remains, 


Remains not longer than the moving breeze. 
Dying and sighing for the silent dead, 
Swooning and sickened of the world’s disease, 
Vanishing always, as pure souls have fled, 


Fled from the slaughter of frail innocents, 

Confiding souls, whose trust was in a world, 

That, reckless of their safety or defense, 

Treats them as outcasts, from high heaven hurled; — 


43 


THE RING OF LOVE 


4 . 

All that confided in destructive laws 
Of cruel Chance. Is it of Chance, alone, 

Such destinies are turned — the master cause. 
That leads or drives us into ways unknown? 


Unknown to all, unknown are all the ways — 
But surely, there must be some other guide, 
Some other fateful master of our days, 

Save brutal Chance, for fife is not denied. 


Denied the soul. — Thus I decline this cup; — 
Even in the very void of thought, should I, 
Deluded by despairing views, call up 
The futile vapours of philosophy? 


44 


THE LAST VIGIL 


5 . 

Rather confide in every frail belief; 

For, in the void of doubt, devouring death 
Accords no respite to our lasting grief, — 

That must remain as long as there is breath. — 


Breath was the boon of those devoted days, 

When voice to voice responded, heart to heart, 
When as we wandered among winding ways, 

We pledged each other that we should not part — 


Part not in life or death? Oh death-life-pledge! 
Is love more constant than inconstant breath? 
Has love new fife beyond that extreme edge 
Where sweet life enters into bitter death? 


45 


THE RING OF LOVE 


6 . 

Sweet life is bitter, only death is sweet; 
Life is our sad night, death is our glad day; 
Life is denied existence, not complete; 

Life gains to value as it fades away. 


Away it fades within a few short hours, 

Even as I watch, and even as I breathe 
The wan hours vanish in these dewless flowers, 
Breathing and dying on the form they wreathe 


Wreathe lovingly the form that silent seems 
A vision of some other world; so white 
And beautiful and pure; as if God’s dreams, 
From stars descending, floated into sight. 


46 


























































THE LAST VIGIL 


7 . 

The night is waning; the great moon declines; 
Pale star-lights linger; the moon fades away; 

Her crown no longer through the casement shines; 
Her night-queen beauty has been lost in day: 


Lost in day! God’s artist of changing skies, 
In heaven’s chemicals has dipped his brush! 
Aurora, opulent in rainbow dyes, 

Tiptoe, is calling the enraptured thrush; 


Calling the thrush while Sorrow calls me! — All 
The varied melody of joyful dawn 
Is echoing beyond the garden wall, 

Is rising from the lilacs on the lawn! 


47 


THE RING OF LOVE 


8 . 

The beauty of the morning, and the ways 
Of all sweet nestlings in the laughing leaves. 
Always remind me of those hallowed days 
When Love went with me — Ah, my spirit grieves, 


Grieves for the very joy that should be mine! — 
Never again, when jocund morning sings, 

Shall we laugh lightly, pushing through the vine. 
As flitting fledglets lift their little wings! 


Wings that remind me of bright spirits, unseen. 
Of hallowed legends and all-trusting youth, 

Of days long-vanished, that still intervene 
And hide new error in forgotten truth. 


48 


THE LAST VIGIL 


9 . 

All things accounted lovable and sweet, 

While thus I linger in this pure, chaste room, 
Compel me, lead me, to thy gentle feet: — 
Starlight and the sweet dawn, silence, perfume, 


Perfume of the dear death of drooping flowers, 
The revolution of Time’s Day-and-Night, 

And flushed Aurora in spiced lilac bowers. 

And all that’s beautiful, and all delight. 


Delight, desire of all dear things I see, 
Shadows in dawn, and jewels in night’s gloom, 
All these to me, are all a part of thee, 

And thou and these go with me to the tomb. 


49 


THE RING OF LOVE 


FRAILTY — ( Sonnet , Elizabethan Form) 

And that is why the frailty of tripped girls 

Is lovable and beautiful,-although 

The acid drip of time, stain of their pearls, 

Has left their sad hearts not as pure as snow. 

Oh, that is why all mothers’ tender sighs 
Hover, — chaste haloes, on their damaged hearts! 
Shew me the law of God, or man, denies 
That love-desire should crave what love imparts! — 
Love’s failure is the reason of despair. 

The flaunt of tinsel in the eye of Lust, 

The reason why the frail will even dare 
That desolation which depraves their dust. 

O my dear sweeting, in your hallowed days, 

Be merciful to all of evil ways. 


50 



PATTERNS FOR POETS 





PATTERNS FOR POETS 


When I first began to write poetry, I was very much 
puzzled as to what form I should use for the various 
thoughts which I tried to express. Therefore, I spent 
some time investigating what a great many poets have 
done in the way of forms and their different kinds of 
technique: — 

The sonnet has often been discussed; there are several 
works defining it and giving advice to the writer of that 
kind of poetry; but I find very little has been said about 
the great many forms which have inherent beauty, and 
are frequently used by the better class of poets. So I 
conceived the idea of publishing a book in which nearly 
all, if not all, of the standard forms of poetry would be 
exemplified. 

In the back of the book will be found an index which 
may be of advantage to those who are curious, and 
which should form a ready reference, so that the begin¬ 
ner or the curious reader, or even the professional poet, 
can look up an example, if he should happen to be inter¬ 
ested in poetical forms. 


53 


THE RING OF LOVE 


The lyric is such a usual form of poetry, there is no 
very great reason why I should give a description of it, 
but I hold that the greatest requisite for a good lyric is 
that it should have both the qualities of interest and 
felicity of expression, and, of course, those two require¬ 
ments have been my guides in trying to produce the 
lyric. 

The Lyric Sequence entitled “ The Ring of Love ” 
has used quite a variety of rhythms and stanzas, and 
as there are not a great many Lyric Sequences in the 
language, in that respect possibly, this poem of con¬ 
nected lyrics may have additional interest for some 
readers; as compared to unconnected lyrics. 

The next form to be found in this book is in the poem 
“ Silence and True Love ” which is an essay in blank 
verse. There is no doubt the beauty of blank verse 
depends much upon the successful use of the caesura, 
which should be varied, and as a general rule the caesura 
should not happen too often between the fourth and 
fifth syllables. With that slight information, let us 
pass to the next form in this book. 

“ The Last Vigil ” — page 41 — is based on the 
elegiac form which was almost standardized by Gray’s 
Elegy , but in this elegy I have included a technique that 


54 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


is original to myself. It is divided into nine parts of 
three stanzas each; twenty-seven stanzas in all. It 
will be observed that the last word of the first stanza, 
in each section of three stanzas, is repeated by the first 
word of the second stanza, and the last word of the 
second stanza is repeated in the first word of the third 
stanza; that form being continued throughout the 
nine parts. It was used to give the poem a feeling of 
solemnity and melody. 

The next poem “ Silence and Hope ” — page 67 — is 
a Sestina, which is one of the rarest forms in the English 
language. I know of only two others besides this and 
it is notable for being little used, owing to the diffi¬ 
culty of technique required. It deserves quite a little 
description. It consists of six stanzas of six lines each: 
the fines are usually of ten syllables each, and it is con¬ 
cluded with an envoy of three fines. It is always to be 
written in that rigid number of fines. The ending word 
of each fine should be a word of some gravity and some 
weight; trifling words should not be used as the endings 
of the fines in a sestina. After the first stanza is writ¬ 
ten, which is of six fines, the ending words of these six 
fines, making six words, are rigidly used as the ending 
words of all the other stanzas; no other word can be 


55 


THE RING OF LOVE 


used as a last word of a line. The last word of the 
first stanza must be used as the ending word of the 
first line of the second stanza. The last word of the first 
fine of stanza one becomes the ending word of the 
second line, stanza two. The last word of the fifth fine, 
stanza one, must be the ending word of the third line, 
stanza two. The last word of the second line, stanza 
one, must be the last word of line four, stanza two. 
The last word of the fourth line, stanza one, must be 
the ending word of the fifth line, stanza two. The last 
word of the third fine, stanza one, must be the last word 
of the sixth line, stanza two. That order must be fol¬ 
lowed throughout the poem. The second stanza is 
used for the pattern of the third stanza and so on. By 
this means, these ending words of the lines of the first 
stanza will each of them fall in a different position 
throughout the six stanzas of the poem, so that each 
word alternates from the first to the sixth position in 
each stanza. Then to make this idea complete, the 
same six words must all be used in the envoy which is 
only three lines, but they are used at the ending of the 
caesura besides the ending of each of the lines. Exami¬ 
nation of the envoy in this poem will show just where 
those six words should be used in the envoy. This 


56 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


method of using those ending words prevents the tink¬ 
ling sounds of rhyme and at the same time produces a 
beautiful and melancholy sound to the ear of the reader. 

The next form in this book is a Petrarchan Sonnet — 
page 69 — “ Pearls of Hope.” This form of the sonnet 
has been described so often that I believe it will not be 
necessary to use the reader’s time with another descrip¬ 
tion of it, excepting to call attention to the one fact that 
any poet who adopts the form of the sonnet and does 
not maintain the correct number of rhymes, simply 
advertises himself as being incapable of producing a 
sonnet. It, therefore, should be done with great care. 

The next poem in this book is a Triolet — page 70 — 
“ Sweetest, Fairest.” Rather frequently it has been 
used in our language and, to my mind, it is seldom a 
form that gives great pleasure. However, for a certain 
class of poems it is useful. Only two rhyming words 
are used in the triolet which consists of eight lines. 
The first line is repeated in the fourth and seventh. 
The second fine is repeated in the eighth. 

The next poem in this book may merit some attention 
entitled “ Love or Wine ” — page 71. It is, I believe, 
the one poem of its kind in the language. It consists of 
two Villanelles, Part I and Part II, in which the same 


57 


THE RING OF LOVE 


rhymes are used and there is a peculiarity in the rhythm, 
as the reader will notice a spondee in the center of each 
line. The villanelle is always a poem of five stanzas, 
three lines each, and an envoy of four lines. It must 
not be varied from that fixed number. The first line of 
the poem is used as a refrain for the last line of the 
second stanza, of the last line of the fourth stanza, and 
of the last line of the envoy. 

The third line of the first stanza is used as a refrain 
for the last line of the third stanza, and the last fine of 
the fifth stanza, and for the second to last line of the 
envoy. The second line of the poem fixes a rhyme 
which must be used for the second line of all five stanzas 
and for the second line of the envoy. By this rule, 
only two rhymes are used in the entire poem. The en¬ 
voy usually is addressed to a prince or some power, and 
contains a summing up of the idea of the poem. This 
is a very difficult form to write and, perhaps out of 
bravado, I doubled the difficulty by making it a “ Double 
Villanelle,” and made it still more difficult by the pe¬ 
culiarity of rhythm I adopted. It may be asked, what 
is the advantage of hampering one’s self with a difficult 
form? For an answer to this, I may say, what is the 
advantage to the human mind in examining a beautiful 

58 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


piece of lace? The difficulty of making the lace appeals 
to the intelligence of the beholder besides the beauty of 
the pattern. The same law holds the attention of the 
reader in beautiful and intricate forms of poetry. The 
only thing to be observed is the fact that the difficulty 
must not be a detriment to the result. The poem must 
be just as beautiful, in spite of the difficulty, as if it had 
been written in the easiest way. 

The next poem in this book is a Rondeau entitled 
“ Sallie Slapped Me ” — page 75. This form is more 
popular than most other exotic forms. It consists of 
two rhymes only, thirteen lines, and two refrains, 
making fifteen apparent lines. The first phrase is used 
as a refrain, ending the third and fifth stanzas. In this 
poem the refrain is “ Sallie slapped me.” The arrange¬ 
ment of the rhymes must not be varied from the sample 
in this book. Otherwise, it may not properly be con¬ 
sidered as a rondeau. It is a very useful form to concen¬ 
trate the mind of the reader on some particular phrase 
or idea. 

The next form is a Rondel — page 76 — entitled 
“ Contradiction.” This is a rarer form than the ron¬ 
deau, very seldom seen in the English language. The 
first two lines are used as a refrain, which means they 


59 


THE RING OF LOVE 


are repeated at the last of the second stanza and at the 
last of the third stanza. With the refrain, the rondel 
consists of fourteen lines with only two rhymes per¬ 
mitted. The rhymes must be arranged in the exact 
way as they are in this example or it will be an incorrect 
rondel. 

Most of these forms were invented by French and 
Italian troubadours and they all have a reason for their 
existence. They have a beauty in themselves; and the 
attitude of some of our latter day would-be poets who, 
because of their own incompetence, deride the use of 
anything that is difficult, certainly deserves derision 
when these forms are properly examined and understood. 

The next poem in this book entitled “ Bitter-Sweet ” 
— page 77 — is a Pantoum and is a rare form for the 
English language. I understand that it was adopted 
from some poems written in the Polynesian group of 
islands, by Malays; it is very peculiar. The rules 
governing it are as follows: the second line of the first 
stanza must be used as the first line of the second stanza. 
The fourth line of the first stanza must be used as the 
third line of the second stanza, and this repetition of 
the second and fourth lines of each stanza must always 
be carried to the next stanza in the order above men- 


60 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


tioned. It gives a peculiar, monotonous turn to the 
sound of the poem and is useful if you wish a poem that 
repeats some idea to the mind ‘of the reader. As above 
stated, it is used very seldom and in fact it would become 
monotonous if there were many of them used in any one 
book by any poet, but when used only occasionally it is 
quite a delight to the reader. 

The next on this list is what is known as Vers-de- 
Societe. The principle of this class of poetry is to be 
bright and witty and at the same time use a difficult 
form. In this poem entitled “ Wright ” I believe that 
we have something that is entirely original in many 
ways — page 79. 

The next poem in the list is another Rondeau which 
follows the same form as the rondeau described before. 
This one is entitled “ I’m Mad at the World ” — 
page 80. This rondeau, you will observe, is written in 
my blood because I was so very mad at the world when 
I wrote it. 

The next poem in this book is a Ballade entitled 
“ Elfin Knight ” — page 81. This is a difficult form to 
write and is seldom used in the English language. Only 
two rhymes are used in the poem which consists of three 
stanzas, eight lines each, and an envoy of four lines. 


61 


THE RING OF LOVE 


The last line of the first stanza is used as a refrain for 
the last line of each stanza, and the last line of the 
envoy. 

The rhymes must be arranged in the same order as 
they are arranged in this example. Otherwise, it will be 
an imperfect ballade. The envoy, like envoys in other 
exotic forms, is usually addressed to a prince or some 
power and contains a summing up of the poem. It is 
frequently used for superstitious subjects, wdtches, 
ghosts, etc. It seems to be beneficial to that idea. 

The next form in this book “ The Nautical Ballad of 
Ben Bo Bohns ” — page 85 — is patterned on the old 
style ballad which was popular in the English, Welsh 
and Irish languages of the old bards that flourished six 
hundred years ago. They usually had a superstitious 
turn, and used internal rhymes freely, which were con¬ 
trolled by the caesuras. The point of the minstrels who 
sung them was to tell a story in poetical form at a ban¬ 
quet of some lord or baron, and usually dealt with 
heroic deeds, or wild actions, or superstitions, or things 
that would excite the superstition of the hearers. It is 
needless to say that very little was said by those old 
bards in the way of flowers, roses and stars, and such 
other stock beauties that are today w r orked to death by 


62 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


modern poets. The object was to tell something. It is 
a difficult form to write correctly because on account of 
the lack of ornament the writer is forced to say some¬ 
thing , and that something must he said, and that some¬ 
thing must he interesting. 

The next form in this book is entitled “ Consequence ” 

— page 89 — and is a song with a chorus. Of course, 
such a poem is subject to great latitude and the poet 
may follow a great many patterns. 

The next poem in the list is a lyric “ A Tropic Idyl ” 

— page 90. As I have called your attention before to 
this form, I do not repeat the description. 

An ode follows entitled “ Ode — To Love Divine ” — 
page 91. Since the days of Cowley a great many odes 
have been written in this irregular style of meter and 
rhyming. They are generally supposed to be poems 
based on spiritual subjects. 

After this series of Patterns For Poets follows a 
series of lyrics entitled A Sentimental Series, and it does 
not seem to me that it is necessary to describe this 
series as they follow closely what is usually known as 
lyrics. 

I might say, however, one thing. Lyrics of today 
have frequently degenerated into nothing but a con- 


63 


THE RING OF LOVE 


glomeration of “ high-filutin ” lines, when everything 
is considered. It is much more difficult to write a 
lyric that means something , than it is to write a series of 
lines each line of which might be beautiful in itself. 

The next poem in this book, in order to round out the 
variety of forms, is a short Narrative, and the criticism 
of lyrics, which mean little, applies in greater force to a 
narrative that means nothing. A narrative should be 
interesting; tell its story in an unmistakable way. 

Indeed, there are very few genuine Sonnet Se¬ 
quences in our language, especially if written in the 
Petrarchan form, and, it seems to me, this book of 
poetic patterns is justly ended by the inclusion of my 
Sonnet Sequence, The Lover’s Rosary, which (if I be 
not censured for boasting) is the only Sonnet Sequence 
that has ever been produced in any language in which 
each sonnet is linked to every other sonnet, by such 
a contrivance; a chain of interlinked rhymes. 

In conclusion, I may say that I do not believe this 
idea of presenting to the reader one of each important 
form used in poetry and all by one author, has ever 
been attempted before; and it seems to me that there 
should be some interest to the reader when reading a 
variety of such beautiful forms as we have inherited 


64. 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


from the past. I also hope it may be of some advan¬ 
tage to the younger writers of our day who have had 
some difficulty in finding patterns for these various 
forms, presented thus in one compact form, in one book. 


65 









♦ 



























































































/ 











































































SILENCE AND HOPE —Sestina 


The moon sleeps — silent on the ocean wave; 
The stars are sleeping in the calm of night; 

The world is lost in dreams — and all is still. — 
Oh happy hour! the time that ever gives 
To me sweet comfort, and the precious hope 
That life results from everlasting sleep. 


When radiant morning calls the world from sleep. 
And, like a God, the sun wheels from the wave. 

The world will rouse to labour without hope; 

And I mid thankless toils, will sigh for night; 

The night when I’ll awake to life that gives 
Peace and delight, when all the earth is still. 


Oh happy hours, when all the earth is still! 
Oh precious hours, when all are lost in sleep! 
Oh sweetest calm, when weary Nature gives 


67 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


The world to rest! — All but the restless wave, 
Which rolleth with the moon the live-long night; — 
And I, — awake, enthralled in dreams of hope. 


How wonderful if I could always hope, 

Giving to joy the span of life that still 
Remains! Alas, the never-ending night, 

That man has softly named, 4 Eternal Sleep,* 
Never returns one motion; but the wave 
Sweet light returneth that the star-light ^gives. 

The day gives labour, but the calm night gives 
The beauty of the stars — and blessed hope; — 
The morning wind awakes the troubled wave, 
But night returns and all again is still. — 

To me, oh gently come, Eternal Sleep; — 

Come gently while I slumber, in the night. 

Look out upon the splendour of the night! 
There is a beauty in the air, that gives 
The troubled spirit peace — that even sleep 


68 


SILENCE AND HOPE 


Or death not equals. — Stars and starry hope — 
Sweetest companions when the night is still! — 
When silently the moon sleeps on the wave! 

V Envoy — 

Prince! — the wave rolls in the silent night — 
When all the world is still the star-light gives 
Immortal hope, that mortals wake from sleep. 

> 


PEARLS OF HOPE— Sonnet 

Why should we covet everlasting rest, — 

The long sad peace that hallows a dark grave? — 
Action — may give new courage to the brave 
Who live in hope. — O ye, who are depressed 
In oft-repeated failure, it is best 
To live and die in hope! May not the wave, 
That rolls from far, some lonely shore to lave, 
Give up the riches of her shining breast; 


69 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


Bring forth her priceless pearls with upward heave? — 
Oh, let no dark design our hopes bereave. 

For we are like the wave in life’s wide ocean. 

Restless and tossed by many a storm’s commotion. 

And on eternal shores may chance to leave 
Some pearls of hope for this sad earth’s devotion. 


SWEETEST, FAIREST — Triolet 

Sweetest; — loveliest in the land! 

Fairest; — prettiest and best! 

Who — can such a girl withstand? — 
Sweetest; — loveliest in the land, 

We are slaves, at your command! — 

Well you know it — you have guessed — 
Sweetest; — loveliest in the land, 

Fairest; — prettiest and best. 


70 


LOVE OR WINE 

(A Double Villanelle) 


Part I 

Fill to the brim! sparkling wine! 
Drink to the girl — drink the sea! 
Here’s to the girl, here’s to the vine 


Wonderful hair, — girl divine, — 
Beautiful eyes — witchery — 

Fill to the brim, sparkling wine! 


Dimple of Love’s perfect design, 
Smiling for me — only for me! 
Here’s to the girl, here’s to the vine 


71 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


Languishing eyes, stars that shine. 
Kindle my love. — A pledge to thee! 
Fill to the brim, sparkling wine. 


Never for me, never mine! 

Women and wine never agree, — 
Here’s to the girl, here’s to the vine! 


V Envoy — 

Prince, choose wine! —wine so fine! 
Choose the girl! which will it be? 
Here’s to the girl, here’s to the vine, 
Fill to the brim, sparkling wine. 


72 


LOVE OR WINE 


Part II 

Fill the bowl, sparkling wine! 
Drink, my lads, drink the sea! 
Drink to the girl, she is mine! 


Lovely, fair, smiles divine, 
Eyes! that are full of deviltry, 
Fill the bowl, sparkling wine! 


Queen of hearts, God’s design, — 
Owns my soul, steps on me, — 
Drink to the girl, she is mine! 


73 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


Good as gold, extra fine, 
Twice the best, triple three; 
Fill the bowl, sparkling wine! 


Come to me, gentle vine! 
Teach me every flattery; 
Drink to the girl, she is mine! 


L’Envoy — 

Prince, a drink, don’t decline; 
Girls and wine and kings agree; 
Fill the bowl, sparkling wine! 
Drink to the girl, she is mine! 


74 


SALLIE SLAPPED ME — Rondeau 


Sallie slapped me, — good and square! 
Sallie slapped me, — I declare! 

When I took her scissors — snip. 
Snip — a ringlet quick to clip; — 
Such a pretty lock of hair! 


Gad, — that girl is my despair; 

Ha! she’d better have a care — 
Many a slip ’twixt cup and lip — 
Sallie slapped me. 


Sallie said a naughty swear; 

Swore she’d have my scalp to wear; — 
Look, the biggest flirt can trip; 

Here I wear this golden strip; 

Tit for tat is only fair; 

Sallie slapped me! 


75 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


CONTRADICTION — Rondel 

What is the reason of my discontent, 

And I rejoicing in the love of you? 

There is no answer that wits can invent, 
Nothing in logic to furnish a clue. 

Worries and troubles all wits will pursue. 
Hunting the cause of that happy-lament: — 

“ What is the reason of my discontent. 

And I, — rejoicing in the love of you? ” 

This will explain to you all that is meant; 

One thought was doubled in answer of two; — 
This it is, — Love me dear, do not consent; 
Agree — contradict — and your answer will do 
What is the reason of my discontent, 

And I, — rejoicing in the love of you ? 


76 


BITTER-SWEET — Pantoum 


This is the only thing I know; 

I love you so, will you be mine? 
Will you be mine? I love you so 
Because I think you are divine. 


I love you so, will you be mine? — 

If you are mine then I am yours; — 
Because I think you are divine, 

I love the pain my heart endures. 


If you are mine, then I am yours, 
And that sweet reason tells me why 
I love the pain my heart endures, 

And must endure until I die: 


And that sweet reason tells me why 
The bitter-sweet, the pain I love, — 
And must endure until I die, — 

Is sweet below and sweet above. 


77 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


The bitter-sweet, the pain I love !— 
When sweet is bitter, even pain 
Is sweet below and sweet above, 

For pain gives love its only gain. 

When sweet is bitter, even pain 
Is all my passion to possess ; 

For pain gives love its only gain, 

And love is doubled in distress. 


78 


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80 



ELFIN KNIGHT — Ballade 


The song of an elfin knight, — 

A knight from over the seas, — 
The song of a mad, mad flight, — 
A witch and her sorceries: — 

“ What of your victories? 

Boast not a valiant deed — 

Ho! for the knight that flees 
The witch — the phantom steed. 


“ What of the right — O Knight, 

And never a day of ease! 

Look that your sword is bright, 
Witches are hard to please. — 
Demons of mysteries, — 

Devils of every creed! 

What do I worship on my knees? — 
The witch — the phantom steed! 


81 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


“ Flitting in ghostly white. 

Carried away on the breeze. 

And a black steed, blacker than night, — 
Black as her deviltries! — 

O victims of witcheries. 

When that your love makes speed. 
Remember an elf that sees 
The witch — the phantom steed! 


VEnvoy — 

“ Prince of Insane Decrees, 
Mercy, attend my need! — 

Bless the good saint that frees 
The witch — the phantom steed.” 


82 


THE NAUTICAL BALLAD 
OF 

BEN BO BOHNS 












































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THE NAUTICAL BALLAD 


OF 

BEN BO BOHNS — 

Ho! Ben Bo Bohns of the Will o’ the Wisp, 

He sails to the phantom west! 

For thirteen years and thirteen months 
He’s chased that phantom quest! 

Quoth Ben, “ We’ve sailed from the rim of the east, 
From the port of Kalkut Town, 

And steered our ship on the shining sea 
To the west where the day goes down. 


“ For thirteen years and thirteen months 
And thirteen days to the dot, 

We’ve steered to the west, but the west remains 
That same far distant spot. 

Crowd on all sail, you lubber crew! 

With thirteen sails to the breeze, 

In the thirteenth hour of the thirteenth day 
We’ll sail the Western Seas! — 


85 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


“ What ails^you now, my Bos’n Bold, 
What trouble is in your eye? ” 

“ O Captain Ben, again and again 
That wizard ship goes by; 

Her hulk is red and her crew is dead, 
And she’s weather-beat with age; 

She scuds in the gale, with never a sail, 
Where the western billows rage.” 


“ Crowd on more sail, we’ll never fail; 

’Tis the Flying-Dutchman ship; 

She leads the way to Phantom Bay 
Where the western waters dip.” 

“ O Captain Ben,” said the helmsman then, 
“ There’s another ship that’s queer! ” 

“ Have never a fear,” quoth Ben Bo Bohns, 
“ ’Tis The Ancient Marineer; 


86 


BEN BO BOHNS 


“ Tis the ship of The Ancient Marineer, 

She sails the fading west, 

Clap on all sail, in calm or gale, 

She leads us to our quest.” 

Then in a fright the Midshipmite, 

“ O Captain, Ben Bo Bohns, 

In the first monsoon, if you sing that tune, 
We’ll go to Davie Jones.” 


“ Fear not my lad, ’tis not that bad, 

We’ll welcome breeze or gale; 

If a phantom ship can weather the storm, 

The Will o’ the Wisp can’t fail.” — 

They stretched the sheets till the cordage sang, 
The crazy crew sang too; — 

The crazy ship with a shudder and a moan. 

To the west like an arrow flew. 


87 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


Far, far to the west, on that strange quest, 
They sail the Western Sea, 

To join those other phantom ships, — 

God save that phantom three! 

O mates beware, foul days or fair, 

Beware of Ben Bo Bohns! 

For if you see that awful three 
You’ll sup with Davie Jones. 


88 


CONSEQUENCE — Song 


Never tlie flight of time has turned 
Summer back to spring; 

When summer is old and turns to gold, 
Birds forget to sing. 

Chorus 

Why should the summer of my love 
Bring a sadder season? 

Love me as true as I love you 
And Time will lose his reason. 


When have autumn’s russet leaves 
Whispered, “ Summer follows ” ? 

When leaves are dead and birds have fled 
Winter haunts the hollows. 

Chorus 

Why should the summer of my love 
Bring a sadder season? 

Love me as true as I love you 
And Time will lose his reason. 


89 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


A TROPIC IDYL — Lyric 

By banks of sweet magnolias, 

That line a tropic stream, 

We sailed through sleeping fragrance. 
As in a lovely dream. 


As the half-concealed magnolias, 
That spangle in the night, 

Her mantle, gently parted. 
Revealed a dazzling white. 


Her eyes were large and lustrous, — 
Like stars in dreamy rest; 

Her hair unbound and golden. 
Concealed a snow-white breast. 


90 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


She never saw the crescent, 

That seemed to sail the air; 
And I was lost in wonder, — 
While we were dreaming there. 


ODE — 

TO LOVE DIVINE 

Swift and lovely dreams—oh, steep our souls 
In visions of divinity! 

Spread your varied rainbows on the sea 
Of this mortality, that rolls 
In sorrow and despair! 

Oh, let the virtue of such purity 
Span over that dark gulf, and lead us where 
Mortality at last shall fail! 


91 


PATTERNS FOR POETS 


O Spirit, eager to prevail 
Against the dissolution of our days. 
Seek the great throne 
Of that divinity, — alone 
That turns our devious ways 
From this mortality to immortality! 


O Love divine, — 

The very grave of Death, — 

The essence of our life is thine; 

We are the creatures of thy living breath! 
Oh, let our adoration be to thee 
A bond of purity and chastity! 


92 


THE HERMIT — Sonnet 


When from the entrance of his lonely cave, 

The hermit views the glory of the dawn, 

He turns and sighs, “ Alas, the night is gone, 

I would the sun were quenched beneath the wave.” 
And I, an eremite, love cannot save, 

Witness the glory of a rising sun, 

And, turning, sigh, “ My sorrow hath begun — 

I would the night were lasting as the grave.” 


Thou art the sun, like morning’s golden car, 
Who hast arisen in my peaceful night, 

While fast before thee fadeth many a star. — 
Stars, beautiful, that I, an eremite, 

Did love for their sweet influence, — which far 
Serene and silent shone with steady light. 
























































































































































! 


A SENTIMENTAL SERIES 












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COME BACK 


Wonderful moving stars. 
Guiding the fading ships; — 
Motionless seeming — sailing — 
Slowly the vision slips! 


Sail! sail! ships and stars! 

Sail — to your destiny! 

All that I love goes with you — 
Go-but come back to me. 


THE LOVELIEST BUD 

Do you believe this bud has blown 
And shut for you, — to bloom anew? 
Has spread its petals one by one. 

And shown its chalice wet with dew? 
I saw it open bright and gay, 

I saw it lift to hear the thrush; 


97 


THE LOVELIEST BUD 


I saw it bloom when soft the day 
Crept up with timid hush. 


I saw it sway in the pale moon-light. 
Its cup with sparkling jewels filled; 
For all that night an elfin wight 
Delicious dew distilled. 

And when the eye of day awoke, 

And all the birds began to sing, 
That little elf with gentle stroke 
Shut up the flower-spring. 


He left it sweet and fresh for me, — 

This bud that once was a blooming flower, — 
For me to pluck — for you to see — 

For you to bloom a happy hour. 

And it is fair, and you are fair, 

And every word of this is true; 

And here it is for you to wear,— 

Fresh and sweet with dew. 


98 


RED ROSES 


Roses were white in ancient days. 
White as the maids of heaven; 
Perfectly white, till in despite 
The red rose thus was given: — 


Mischievous Cupid, bad blind boy, 
In Venus’ garden slipped, 

And shot a white rose in the heart, 
With arrow golden tipped. 

Love’s poison in the wounded rose 
Ran riot, as it bled, 

And changed its petals, vestal-white, 
To conscious, blushing red. 


99 


SECRET WINGS 


A gentle ghost, pale as a star, 

Hid in a shadow-cloud; — 

Even a spirit might miss that form, 
Wrapped in a misty shroud. — 

I felt its presence, as the thrill 
That steals on secret wings, 

Into the heart with hallowed thoughts. 
When twilight silence brings. — 


100 


A BIT OF LACE 


Why should the tendrils of the heart entwine 
Around the little things. 

That, cherished, baffle the swift flight 
Of Time’s insatiate wings? 

As I caress with fond and lingering touch, 
This bit of fragile lace, 

The past is present, and my heart 
Recalls a gentle face. 


101 


LITTLE WITCH 


You tried to tease me; little witch! 

With frown and pout pretended; 
But every pout and frown was rich 
In smiling, dimple-blended — 
You tried to tease me. 


You tried to please me — sad coquette! 

With sighs and tender kisses; 

But now, you’ll have it, you forget 
Those tender, dainty, blisses — 

You tried to please me! 


102 


AT LAST 


The morning breeze expires 
Upon the cool sea’s breast; 
The last ray of the sun 
Fades in the shadowed west. 

Into the heaven’s blue 
The soul of music dies; 

And slowly to his nest 
The stricken eagle flies. 


All to love must haste, 
And all from life depart; 
And I shall be content 
To rest upon thy heart. 


103 


PURE AND SWEET 


Thou art a lovely flower, 
Pure and sweet and fair; 
Others frail and lovely. 
Have fallen unaware. — 


Everyone who loves you, 
Breathe with me a prayer 
God protect and keep you 
Pure and sweet and fair. 


104 




DOWN THE LANE 


Down the lane a maiden goes. 
Sweet and lovely as a rose; 

Modesty dwells in her eyes, 

Pure as planets in the skies; 
Rosebud’s red her cheeks have ta’en, 
Lily’s white her brow would stain. — 
Ah! sweetest smiles will she bestow 
On any one that she doth know; — 
But thrice as merry would I be 
If all her smiles were meant for me. 

Sullied was the day’s bright eye, 
When that fair girl passed me by; 
Look, the sun suffered eclipse. 

When I saw her tempting lips! 

All unheeded his bright glare, 

When I saw her golden hair — 

Sad fate! sorry dolt! alas! 

To pine for sake of a pretty lass! — 
Gad! — I must get a remedy 
For this disease that threatens me. 


105 


MY WHITE ROSE 


Gleam-trove! Dream-love! 

Maid of my dream, 
Floating so softly 
Down a wide stream. — 


Bright glows the white rose 
In billowy bed, 

Under the wide sky 
Cold, white and dead. 

Swing low! wing slow! 

Beautiful star! 

Swing to the white rose; 
Silvery car. 


106 


SWING IN THE MOON-LIGHT 


Swing in the moon-light! 

Higher and higher! 

I could swing always — 
Never could tire. 


What of our troubles! 

What of the world! 

What of our sad thoughts! — 
Upwards we’re whirled! 


Talk to the planets, 
Speak to the moon — 
Tell them in whispers 
A pretty love tune! 


107 


SWING IN THE MOON-LIGHT 


Swing it, swing swiftly! 

Don’t let the cat die! 
Why should we worry! 
Swing to the sky! 


Oh, you are dizzy, 

Let her swing slow; 

Hold up! — stop pushing! — 
Stop her-so —. 


108 


A MEMORY 


Is it the spirit of a dream — 
The dearest memory — 

Is it the essence of a flower 
The soul of ecstacy? — 


As the pure fragrance that is given 
To steal upon the air, 

The long-loved memory of you 
Steals on me, unaware: 


And everything that’s beautiful, 
And everything that’s true, 

And everything that’s lovely, pure, 
Is in the thought of you. 


100 


DIPLOMATIC 


We were chatting in the dark, 
Trying to name the stars; 

“ Look,” I whispered, “ that is Mars, 
Like a golden spark! ” 


“ I don’t like old Mars,” she pouted, 

“ Butchers make me weary — 

There’s a nicer one, — there — dearie, — 
Tell me all about it.” 


When I looked at her, a grin, or 
Something worked her dimple: 

It was Venus — “ Not so simple! — 
You’re the little sinner! ” 


110 


FORGET-ME-NOT 


Right in the midst of our meadow, 
A shy pretty flower grew, 

Like a small part of the great sky. 
Perfect and pure, and blue. 


Modest and sweet, it grew there; — 
When I went to that spot, 
Sometimes I heard a whisper, 
Saying, “ Forget-me-not.” 


Ill 


IT MUST BE SO — Rhapsody 


That day (it must be so) the smile 
Of noonday sun was caught, — the while 
We wandered, — and imprisoned in 
Your laughing eyes, — magnets that win 
Whatever they desire. 


’Twas then, 

(It must be so) to a secret glen. 
Hunting for flowers that blew so late. 
Desire, or chance, or some kind fate. 
Our willing footsteps led, to where 
A pretty brook emerges fair 
Amid the ferns. And you did quaff 
Its chilly store, and heard it laugh, 
And laugh, with many a light 
And silvery gurgle; for so bright 
And happy was the stream. 


112 


IT MUST BE SO 


And I 

Could swear that all its silvery. 
Delightful, rippling laughter staid 
And echoed in your breast, sweet maid! 
And you did keep it there. 


And now, 

To all the Gods of Heaven, I vow! 
(It must be so) some late bird trilled 
His artless melody, and filled 
Your spirit with his merry lay. 

As far upon our homeward way 
His music followed us with oft 
Repeated note, sweet, pure and soft: 


And oh, 

(It must be so) the bright 
iEolian voice of Hope, with light 
And lovely echoes, made the song 
Of that wild bird to linger long 
And beautiful with you. 


113 


IT MUST BE SO 


Thus all 

The mingled sounds, that ever call 
From wild unvisited retreats; 

And all those joys the brook repeats 
In varied cadence; and the gleam 
Of happy noons, that in the stream 
Is brightly glassed; all went with you, 

And filled your heart with all that’s dear and true. 


114 


WHO RETURNS* 
NARRATIVE 















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WHO RETURNS? — 


Forth from his bare and simple cell! — 
Ah, should the poet gladly leave, 

That in chaste arbours he may weave 
Garlands of joy, the world to tell? — 

And were it best, in this sad day, 

That he should sigh his soul away; 

Or in a chosen dream should dwell? — 


The tales that gentle are and fair, 

To lull the careless child of time 

How many bards have wrought in rhyme: 

The chronicles of sin’s despair, 

That probe the depth of hell’s abyss, 

And leave no touch of hope or bliss, 

Are seldom subjects of their care: — 


117 


WHO RETURNS? — 


In mantle of the purest white, 

As silent as a moving star, 

As silent as all spirits are, 

A sweet form in the blue-dark night 
Went slowly to a place unclean, 

Stealthily entered, all unseen, 

A palace of diseased delight. 

A hall she entered — strange and quaint 
Filled with the breath of ancient days — 
Its columns wreathed with carved fays. 

Its walls adorned with many a saint. 

And famous heroes, wise and grave. 

And statues breathing actions brave. 

And martyrs, pictured pure of taint. 

She stops and shudders, as with fear, 
Viewdng the vistas of that hall, 

Where, seems it, the most light foot-fall 
Should give a sharp touch to the ear; 
Where each device, on arras old, 

A moving phantom seems to hold — 

Where shadows vanish and appear. 


118 


WHO RETURNS? — 


It seemed one shadow, half-outlined, 
Vague as a frightened thought could paint, 
Appeared among the rest, as faint 
As might a ghost that haunts the mind — 
So dim the eye could hardly trace 
Its shifting form and doubtful face, — 
Obscurely shown and undefined. 

It surely seemed that shadow willed 
Some dubious act, some witchery, 

Some scheme of impious treachery, — 
Instinct upon the air, that filled 
With swooning odours; dense as musk 
That filters all the twilight dusk, 

When no one knows from whence distilled. 

And a cold dread, an icy chill 
Into her bosom slowly crept — 

Benumbed of life, it seemed she slept 
In standing posture, white and still; 

As might an angel, petrified, 

Arms wide-extended, open-eyed; 

As life should cease in bloom and thrill. 


119 


WHO RETURNS?— 


As if a dreaming bird, asleep, 

Should suddenly awake to see 
A serpent coiled, and stealthily 
Preparing for the fatal leap; — 

So she awoke, as from a dream, 

And saw a strange unearthly gleam, 

Secreted in those shadows deep. 

Out, through the gates she would have passed. 
Swift as a bird when noise alarms, 

But as the bird of fabled charms 
Is by an evil eye held fast, 

So she, as might an ouphe of dreams, 

Stood helpless, — in unearthly gleams 
Of doubtful light through shadows cast. — 


120 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 
Sonnet Sequence 

























































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SBspi Mi 







































THE LOVER’S APOLOGY 


There is a pleasure in reading that which expresses 
beautiful thoughts in plain and unadorned language; 
and there is a pleasure in that which is lovely and 
beautiful but expressed in symbols—although the 
shadowed meanings may at first baffle the reader. 

Is it not the poet’s business to record the desires 
of the heart as well as the calculations of the mind? 
When Life turns its kaleidoscope, contrasting shapes 
and colours unite in harmonious designs; and so, 
the apparent contradictions of the mind and heart 
may be combined to form a completed destiny. 

If I have offered anything of beauty, let it not be 
denied for the sorrow that is found in truth. 

A chain of beads, used for counting prayers, may 
be called a “ Rosary,” but such a string, or chain, is 
more correctly named a “ Chaplet.” A Chaplet is 
composed of fifty-nine beads; and when the devotee 
has told the fifty-nine beads three times, he has 
thereby completed a “Rosary.” My dear reader, 
when you have the third time read this chain of 
sonnets, fifty-nine, you will have completed “ The 
Lover’s Rosary.” And, as the beads are often made 
of precious jewels, let us hope some pearls may be 
found: alas, I fear many are fashioned of ashes. 

The curious reader may discover the method of 
rhymes by which the sonnets are linked together. 


123 







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♦ I 














Part I 


I 



THE LOVER’S ROSARY 

PEARLS 


I 

How often have I wandered by some stream, 

That laughing bubbled on its joyful way, 

And absent-minded, while my mind was fay, 
Forgot the world to revel in a dream: — 

The splendid sun that makes the ripples gleam, 

The quivering birds, sweet-singing all the day, 
The velvet banks, dainty with blossoms gay, 
All these the ground-work of my dreaming, seem 

Transfigured from mortality to things 

Surpassing heaven. Such a wight, bewitched, 

I revel in a world of phantasy. — 

For you, my love, let Fancy spread her wings, 

And like a doting miser, thrice enriched, 
Surround me with your golden memory: — 


127 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


II 

While one day strolling through a factory, 

I saw a great machine, some genius made, 

As busily it wove a rich brocade 
Of silken texture; and it seemed to me, 

While watching it, absorbed in revery, 

A mist descended, or a silent shade 
Surrounded, or an unseen spirit laid 
A veil upon it. — Quickly and silently 

The turning wheels and clicking needles change 
To noiseless forms that as they swiftly move 
Weave a strange fabric of my destiny: — 

The patterns on the mystic warp arrange 
In characters that prophecy our love, 
Though recent, ends not with eternity. 


128 



PEARLS 


III 

Far from its crag that looks upon the sea, 

A mere speck in the sky, an eagle sails — 
Slowly fading — and while my sight avails, 

A sense of desolation weighs on me. 

But soon upon the wings of Revery 

My spirit follows as my vision fails; 

And careless of the time or adverse gales, 

Floats with the bird through skies of phantasy. 

Unhappy omen! — When I talked with you 
A sense of apprehension weighed me down, 
That your sweet spirit from my gaze might float! 

Far as my free thought to that eagle flew 

Oh, let me follow — if my love has flown — 
Follow to worlds etherial and remote! 


129 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


IV 

Gold is the aged miser’s antidote 

For all the ills of poor humanity; 

But while he fondles that insanity, 

His life escapes him as a drifting boat: 

Brave in his words, the lozel loves to quote 
A witless jargon of profanity — 

Gathered from comrades of like vanity — 

But at the last as thorns they vex his throat: 

Believe me, dearest, rich with golden speech, 

You, the sweet miser of Love’s flattery, 

Are drifting slowly from the life you prize: 

Not like the lozel — I must now beseech 

You swear not “ No ” when “ Yes ” your oath 
should be; — 

From a small word the poisoned arrow flies. 


130 


PEARLS 


V 

Kisses and kind words, tears and woful sighs, 

Anger and petulance, sweet winning ways, 
Fretful or radiant as unsettled days 
When storm and sunshine lurk in fickle skies; 

Silly with wisdom or with nonsense wise. 

Worthy of motley or immortal bays, — 

Your whims divert me: — but one virtue stays 
Unchanged within you, as the gem defies 

Dissolving ocean and corroding years; 

In this you change not; true as tempered steel 
That bent or twisted straightens when released; 

Let him you’ve yielded love forget his fears, 

For loyal to the passion that you feel, 

Your love, once given, always is increased. 


131 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


VI 

Whether a sordid passion or a feast 

Of soul and reason is the greater joy 
May be debated. Let who will destroy 
His better self and wallow as the beast 

In pleasures earthly, long I’ve ceased 
To think of love that as a base alloy 
Depends upon the touch of flesh. The toy 
That pleases with its tinsel is the least 

Enjoyed when once its fraud is realized — 

And yet there is a radiance of the mind 
That shines forth from the person that we love, 

By which the body is idealized: — 

Your beauty has so dazzled me that blind 
To every reason I can nothing prove. 


132 


PEARLS 


VII 

All things of beauty were designed for love — 

Our hearts delight in many-tinted flowers, 
Nodding in nooks and water-circled bowers, — 
Haunt of the wild fowl and the timid dove; — 

The deep cool lake, the wide sky swung above, 

Beautiful both, if blue or grey with showers; — 
The white clouds, menaced by tall city towers, 
Or Godly spires that point where angels move: — 

All these our souls delight to dote upon, 

And others many, but of things most fair 
The beauty of a maid surpasses all: 

And, since of these by far the loveliest one, 

If you are not love’s pattern, I will swear 
That Nature’s ways are never natural. 


133 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


VIII 

How sweet when nearly waking, dreams recall 
The image of a dear and absent friend; — 
The sleeper, fondly struggling not to end 
His drowsy passion, still imagines all 

More beautiful than life. A willing thrall 
Of empty visions, he will even lend 
Himself to conscious error, and extend 
The flight of time, if he may longer loll 

In stolen rapture. — As the sleeper’s trance 
Your image is before my swimming eyes, 
Awake or sleeping, always — everywhere: 

But not a soulless, pictured radiance 

Of you — only your presence satisfies — 

I’d rather awake and see you standing there. 


134 


PEARLS 


IX 


Dreaming of things not earthly and most rare, 
Angelic forms are pictured in the mind, 

While, to the loveliness around us blind, 

Our vision feeds on phantoms of the air: 

All those outlines of vacancy compare 

With counterparts on earth, that we might find 
In humble circumstances, loved, enshrined 
And worshiped, though we pass them unaware. 

How often have I pictured you in dreams, 

As some celestial spirit, not of earth, 

And dreamed my love was what I deified: 

But now, you only loving, that which seems 
Of fancy is forsaken. — Your true worth 
In truth sufficient, — I am satisfied. 


135 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


X 

’Twas only yesterday that you denied 

All love for me, and spitefully maintained 
You hated and despised me; whether feigned 
Or truthful I was helpless to decide: 

But now you smile and flutter by my side, 

And love is in your glances: whether trained 
A flirt you play me thus, or whether pained 
With slight excuse you pouted, I’ll not chide. 

Nor criticise; because, in spite of all 
Your contradictions and caprices, I 
Am confident that I have read your heart: 

Although you strive against me, I recall 
A thousand actions that have certainly 
Declared the truth your lips will not impart. 


136 


PEARLS 


XI 

If poetry is the text-book of the heart, 

Then I should conquer the strong citadel 
That you have battled for so long and well 
With all your batteries of guile and art: 

Soon as my love had gained a feeble start, 

I fed my fancy, — silent in my cell, — 

On all romances that the poets tell 
Of Venus and the trick of Cupid’s dart. 

Alack, your will has woven such a spell, 

That, sitting with you, I forget the way, 
Pursued by lovers, fabled of old time; 

And so, rejecting their example, dwell 

Upon the manner of the present day, — 

That shows true love in action, not in rhyme. 


137 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XII 

Keen as the bloodhound, man imagines crime 
In actions that are plainly innocent: 

He seizes on a false clue, and intent 
Upon his victim overlooks the prime 

Necessities of circumstance and time 
And proper motive, even to invent 
Unheard of causes for things never meant, — 
Riveting chains from deeds almost sublime. 

But I, poor dolt, must follow a false trail 

More silly than the wonder-finding sleuth, — 
Who rather than his thief should fleck the bars, — 

For every time you flout at me I fail 

To guess your purposed fraud;—always the truth 
Shines from your eyes as purity from stars. 


138 


PEARLS 


XIII 

Love is an ancient subject, and the stars 

In lovers’ themes have always been the same; 
But ever since that mischief-maker came. 

To shoot promiscuous arrow’s in soft wars, 

The old, old story nothing ever bars; — 

The telling of it is a world-old game; — 
Perhaps the Heavens, that provide the flame, 
Unite with Love, as Venus shines with Mars. 

Proud of my art, I purposed not to shame 

These pages, writing sonnets with those two 
Mingled to form a subject, old and trite; 

But, whether it is wrong or not to blame 
My love on lunacy, the stars and you 
Are always present in my dazzled sight. 


139 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XIV 

Do you remember, just the other night, 

When, happy, I was sitting at your feet, 

A sudden sickness seized me, as the heat 
Of summer suns may strike with blinding light? 

Pale as the pale moon, in a hasty fright, 

Arising from your crimson-cushioned seat. 

You brought me red wine, saying, 

“ Drink it, Sweet: ” 

And as I took it I could see the white 

Reflection of a crescent in the wine, — 

Like silver in a wave of burning gold, — 

Diana imaged by the chaliced vine: 

Can you believe that omen was a sign, 

That like Diana, beautiful and cold, 

Your heart may love but never will be mine? 


140 


PEARLS 


XV 

You seem so fickle, but a hallowed shrine 

Is hidden in your bosom, which you guard 
With such a jealous care, that no reward. 

Nor penalty, nor subtly planned design 

Can overcome it. — Nothing so divine — 

Not even the lily, white and yet unscarred, 
And not the richest aromatic nard. 

Nor brilliant crystal from Brazilian mine. 

Are equal to enhance its purity. 

Or lend it ornament. It is because 
You worship in that temple I have failed: 

Although I’ve proved your passion, certainly, 

Yet as the vestal of that fane you pause, 

And check the love that surely has prevailed. 


141 


THE LOVER S ROSARY 


XVI 

Silent as a spirit a white cloud sailed 

Alone across the bluest summer sky; 

And as I gazed upon it floating by. 

It seemed a weeping angel, robed and veiled: 

For I could quite discern her features, paled 

And tear-wet, as she witnessed from her high 
Estate the w T oes for which the world must sigh, 
Condemned for sins long ages have entailed: 

And imaged in a dark pool at my feet. 

That same cloud seemed an evil witch, 

With angry scowl determined on my ill: 

But this astonished me; — the angel, sweet 

In the blue sky, and the dark face in the ditch, 
Both had your features — explain it if you will. 


142 


PEARLS 


XVII 

If you should spy Amanga on her hill. 

In wilding arbour, where sweet eglantine, 

Or wandering ivy, tangles with its vine 
Love-garlands, dipping to the glassy rill; 

The rill that murmurs to the whip-poor-will, 

His cadence blending where the mountain pine 
Tinctures the breeze w ith aromatic w ine — 
Delicious juices secret gnomes distil; — 

If you should see her, hidden in that bowser, 
Spreading her nympholepsies of desire — 

A love-god dreaming — how could you deny 

Your breast to garden love’s devoted flower. 

That sheds a new life, — as the lotus fire 
In mind and heart — immortal though we die? 


> 


143 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XVIII 

Midnight with her most starry canopy 

Concealed you in purple as you sat beneath 
The green magnolia, weaving a love-wreath 
Of flowers, — gathered when the moon was high. 

I saw you not, nor even heard you sigh, 

Unconscious, sweeter than Aurora’s breath, 

At dawn that steals across the dripping heath 
From the far mountains, and their mystery: 

But there you waited in the screening shade, 

While I passed by you through the mossy vale, 
Absorbed, and musing on my cherished dream; 

For I would woo you in a serenade, 

From slumbers gentle to awake and sail 
Beneath the stars upon a tranquil stream: — 


144 


PEARLS 


XIX 

Awake, awake! arise from thy dream! 

A splendour envelops the wave and the vale, 
Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 

Come hither, come hither! the late moonbeam 
Has silvered the tree-tops that circle the dale, 
Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 

A shallop is waiting in waters that gleam 

With thousands of stars, and the moon-light pale, 
Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream. 

Oh! light as the fairies that trip in thy dream, 

Oh, swiftly and lightly the shallop will sail, 
Down by the banks of the Pond-lily Stream — 

Come hither, come hither! the wave and the vale 
Are spangled with stars and the moon-light pale! 


145 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XX 

Why should the plaintive voice of love prevail 
When silently the hosts of heaven in bright 
Procession move,— great armies of the night, — 
A time and tide when love may hardly fail? 

Why should the love-call of the nightingale 

Sound dearest in the slowly fading light, — 

The shadows rising with his upward flight, 

The sun declining in a misty veil? 

The last note of my serenade was husht, 

But no white hand undid your casement bars, — 
And not a sound disturbed your hallowed shrine: 

But as I turned to go a footstep crusht 

The soft turf at my side, and like the stars 
That witnessed it, your eyes were seeking mine. 


146 


PEARLS 


XXI 

As when some precious vintage of old wine 
Excites the spirit to its utmost pitch 
Of exaltation, marvelously rich 
Chimeras and absurdities combine 

And form illusions, heavenly, divine; — 

So passionate elixirs may bewitch 
The brain to conjure up delusions, which 
No brush can rival and no touch refine. 

When I am with you, every nerve afire 

And tingling with excitement, I am lost 
To reason and I crown you with perfection; 

But when I leave you, — as the stars expire 

In the gray dawn, or as flames die in the frost, — 
The heat of passion yields to cold reflection. 


147 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXII 

If beauty is the bloom of your complexion — 

The lovely luster of your laughing eyes — 

The trick of a swift dimple that defies 
The keenest vision — that escapes detection 

Only to be sought for; — why should this affection 
Make havoc with my judgment? Every prize 
That such a beauty offers quickly flies — 

Life, bloom and luster flit with youth’s defection. 

Alas, my passion heeds no argument — 

My present joy has routed future ills — 

My future ills may never come to pass! 

And, always with you, I am confident 

That every wrong a valid reason fills — 

For usage, gold is better mixed with brass. 


148 



PEARLS 


XXIII 

Angling one day in waters clear as glass 

I watched the silly fishes ’round the bait, 

Circle and nibble, witless of their fate, 

Until the boldest, an audacious bass, 

Snapped at the sharp hook. Quickly on the grass 
I landed him. — Stooping to estimate 
His value and to guess his goodly weight, 

My brain went dizzy. — If the soul should pass 

Forth from the living body, and should wish 
A life for both the spirit and the clay, 

’Twould not be more surprising — I could see 

Myself transformed into a silly fish; 

And while I sported in a tranquil bay, 

You smiled and fixed a baited hook for me. 


149 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXIV 

If you consider it you will agree 

To this conclusion. — Multitudes believe 
Their hearts are honest, though their lips deceive 
Themselves and others. Many a fallacy 

Is cherished only to bolster what must be 

False to the core; for those who fear and grieve 
Will clutch at gossamers, hoping to reprieve 
Their everlasting doom. — Ah, what can we 

Depend upon! If fraud, so prevalent, 

Makes virtue of necessitous deceit. 

Must we, too, sacrifice the truth for guile? 

Forget experience, and be confident 

An honest love is truthful. It is sweet 
To know the one you love is never vile. 


150 


PEARLS 


XXV 

Before we loved, you greeted with a smile 

Whenever you might meet me on the street; 
And you were always lovable and sweet. 
Considerate and kind, and free from guile: 

And so the habit gained on me to while 

Away my evenings, sitting at your feet; 

And you with pretty ways contrived to cheat 
The measured hours. — How can we reconcile 

Those days of quiet friendship, so replete 
With pure affection, to the present strife 
That seems to flourish as our love increases? 

Love must engender madness from its heat; 

Or, shall we say, because it mingles life 
A two-fold vigour double fire releases? 


151 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXVI 

Love fades and dies, as life with age decreases; 

Love never can die — it must live forever: — 
There is no logic clear enough to sever 
Such contradictions from the simplest theses. 

Even while I’m certain that your love increases, 
Your life is stricken with a wasting fever; 

And what I hold should die not, Death will never 
Permit to live. — Alas, that virtue ceases! 

Let me recite my love — a rosary — 

Sweet thoughts of you in symbols, as on beads 
That hint of thrice five sacred mysteries. 

’Tis all that’s left; the future flies from me; — 

The present moment gone, to nothing leads; — 
And life is but the sum of memories. 


152 


PEARLS 


XXVII 

Dreamily playing on the ivory keys, 

While slowly the dim twilight seeks the west, 

A subtle feeling seems to haunt my breast 
That you are mingling in those harmonies: — 

Strains from old masters, flitting melodies, 

Sweeter than if an angel’s hand caressed 
His own loved instrument, now float and rest 
Around me: — Ah, my wondering spirit sees 

Forms not of earth: — as keenest eyes, possessed 
In youth, when slumber has renewed their power 
Search in the dawn for blossoms fresh with dew; — 

Whether those forms exist as spirits blest 

With life, I know not, but the very flower 
Of life and beauty must remain with you. 


153 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXVIII 

Inform my spirit! — (if it can be true) — 

Ye winging habitants of yielding air 
Are ye surrounding us, and everywhere 
Instinct with life, beneath the utmost blue? 

Or is it all a fiction, always new 

Because our sad wits need it to repair 
The ravage of destruction, that we dare 
To conjure shapes our eyes may never view? 

Now that I cannot see your lovely face. 

Each evening when the glorious day-light fails, 
My soul is rapt in silent reveries: 

As if enchanted, I can see and trace 

In sunset splendours — where the thin rack trails 
In waves of beryl — sailing argosies. 


154 


PEARLS 


XXIX 

O amber ships afloat on beryl seas — 

With all your silken sails a-spread for gales 
That bear you swiftly from our saddened vales 
To happy islands, — isles that mysteries 

Which now perplex us, — sorrow, death, disease, 
May never burden, — trim, oh trim your sails! 
Hasten from this dark planet where the wails 
Of stricken spirits pall on every breeze! 

Take with you all that joyful is and blest; 

Leave us no mingling of the true and pure — 
Envy to temper, and malicious spite — 

For oh, already from our midst the best, 

The purest, truest, to your haven obscure. 
Careens through ether on her wings of light! 


155 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXX 

Oh, sacred pledges hidden from the sight 
Of alien eyes, recorded dimly here 
In shadowy symbols! Words that charm the ear 
And haunting visions of the secret night. 

Sealed to the curious, yield refined delight, 

Elusive and discreet, obscurely clear! — 

Ah, never perish from this book the dear 
Allusions she will understand aright! 

I feel her presence as I turn these pages — 

And the rich treasure, borne in amber ships 
Across etherial seas to shores distressing, 

From her Elysium my soul engages; — 

It seems I hear the murmur of her lips 
Denying what her kind eyes are confessing. 


156 

































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PEARLS 


XXXI 

She moved upon this earth a joy and blessing; 

The wild dove knew her voice, and every flower 
That blossomed in the forest knew the hour 
When she should pass it by — a witch-like 
guessing. 

The fragrant violet, for her caressing, 

Lifted its head in cool sequestered bower, 

And many a bloom, from foot of mossy tower, 
Envied the turf her gentle foot was pressing. 

Oh, never more will timid homing swallows 

Wheel round her as she comes back flower laden, 
From spangled meadows by the brooklet- 
shallows ! 

But still I love to think in some Dream-Aiden 

She wanders — happy where the day is long — 
Where swift time lingers for the joy of song. 


157 













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Part II 

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ASHES 


XXXII 

Now to the world comes one in earnest song. 

With stylus saddened, dipped in blood and tears, 
Shed by those heroes of forgotten years, 

Now veiled in glooms, a silent shadow-throng. — 

Their deeds of glory tarnished in the long 

Sweep of dark ages, lo, the sad world nears 
Deeper eclipse — fleet-footed Future bears 
From shadow-voids, to whelm the great and 
strong. 

Alas, the doomed world may dissolve in space, 

But never should the truth of love be lost. 

Nor elemental passion be forgot. 

Oh let my spirit fabled paths retrace, 

And recreate that dim etherial host, 

In forms immortal — that they perish not. — 


161 




THE LOVER S ROSARY 


XXXIII 

Into the void of death old Chronus tost 
Essential Deities, now long forgot; 

Into the shadows, whither we know not. 

But dead to us and to the future lost: 

If they, immortal, shriveled in the frost 

Of Time’s advancing touch, what counterplot 
May finite beings frame, to change one jot 
The issue of a final holocaust? 

The proud old oak-tree fades before our eyes, 

And, hidden in the silent wilderness, 

Ancestral granite may dissolve in woe: 

Inhaling for its life the body dies; 

And he who pleads immortal Powers to bless 
A future date — forgets a mortal foe. 


162 


ASHES 


XXXIV 

In what dim antres of Forgetfulness 
Are lingering the Gods of long ago, 

Who, laughter-loving, mingled in the flow 
Of mortal tears and human wretchedness? 

Joyous they moved through avenues of distress. 
And bathed the dark ways in a heavenly glow 
Of light and reason, that the earth below 
Might something of immortal hope possess. 

No more among us, all their attributes are blent 
In One Omnipotent, that dwelleth far 
Beyond the knowledge of the finite mind: 

And the sweet peace, that hallowed worship lent, 
Is fast receding, as a fading star 
Whose feeble virtue — few may seek or find. 


163 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXXV 

O happy cherub, leaning on the bar 

That separates the City of the Blest, 

Secure, from caverns where lost souls, distrest. 
Haunt the sad hollows of a darkened star, — 

Shalt thou not sorrow that such beings are 

Doomed always there to wander without rest — 
Weeping, with their own wickedness possest — 
Barred from thy love, from thy kind pity far? 

Behold, our hearts, from our unhappy state, 

In this unstable world of suffering, 

Conceive like sorrows for the stars unknown; — 

But, O kind angel! see our equal fate, 

Where Fate flies drunken on unguided wing; 

A bane to blight us — till the soul has flown. 


164 


ASHES 


XXXVI 

What pensive spirit, poised on drooping wing, 

Has ever ventured from his ghostly vale, 
Through yielding ether and the moonlight pale, 
That hither a true message he may bring? 

No more the prophet’s cries are quickening 
The multitudes, and miracles now fail 
To overcome the doubters that assail 
The blessed altars where the faithful cling: 

If, then, our hallowed faith is but a dream, 

And the world welters in a whirl of chance, 
Why should we sorrow while endowed with 
breath? 

For, whether wise or merry, it would seem 

The ways are tangled as an opiate’s trance, — 
Till the strange riddle—has been solved by death. 


165 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXXVII 

Then let desire to sordid ways advance, 

And, having cast aside unreasoned hope, 

We may proceed with unchecked force to cope. 
Victorious, in.the Tournament of Chance: 

For what avails it if we break a lance 

For truth and glory, and defeated grope, 

Unaided, down oblivion’s fatal slope 

As the spent ghost of Bayard, slain for France? — 

Such was the folly of that peerless soul, 

He dared not tarnish his escutcheon’s flow r er 
To gain great glory by one action wrrong! 

Oh, fatal argument for either goal: 

Choose brutal force and swagger out an hour. 
Or, swayed by visions — die to grace a song! 


166 


ASHES 


XXXVIII 

Oh, for the tincture of an opiate-flower. 

With triple virtue, and a dream profound 
In a wide solitude where not a sound 
May vex to motion a suspended hour: 

Never to waken from the gentle power 

Of living sleep, but like a dreamer drowned 
In poppied slumber, to renew a round 
Of visionary joys in Morpheus’ bower! 

By some smooth alchemy, unthought of yet, 

To mingle in one essence life and death, 

And float in ecstacy betwixt extremes! — 

A vain delusion; what can void the debt 

Our dust assumed, when vivified with breath 
It pledged a long extinction — for short dreams. 


1(57 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XXXIX 

To bless or ban thee, O destroying Death, 

Remains a riddle with no answer found; 

For whether it were better to be bound 
Forever to this clay with living breath, 

Or let the spirit forth, where wandereth 

In vacant vistas, — void of light and sound,— 
Unshapen, immaterial forms around 
Dim nebulae, above or underneath: 

Ah, that may put our courage to the touch, 

May breed up dreadful doubts; dismay the heart 
Most callous to the outcome of its doom: — 

Sleep or oblivion, aught or naught, is much 
Beyond the limit wisdom may impart; — 

And silence is our witness — from the tomb. 


168 


ASHES 


XL 


The occult Magian, versed in subtle art, 

Intent on solving hidden mysteries, 

Nightly observes the slowly moving skies, 
Obscurely shadowed on his ancient chart: 

All his quaint patterns of the stars impart 

Disputed knowledge; when a monarch dies, 

Or deeds of honour to enhance the wise, 

Rich in their pride, before their souls depart: 

But we, consulting those celestial signs, 

Can only wonder where the spirits dwell, — 
Long vanished from this world, for weal or woe; — 

And, wonder as we may, the mind declines 

To answer, whether heaven, or sleep, or hell; — 
Our dreams must satisfy — until we go. 


169 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XLI 

Secluded from his kind in silent cell, 

Through the long cycles of uncounted years. 
The anchorite in mental vision rears 
A paradise to balance real hell: 

Deep gloom is wrapt around his heart to quell 
Each healthful impulse of his nature; tears 
And laughter, love and hope, and even fears, 
That rouse up to endeavour, never swell 

His deadened pulse — never stir his heart: 

But while his precious days in dreams are lost, 
A fateful spectre hovers at his side; 

Adds up each hour, with an accountant’s art; — 
Alas, despising time’s enormous cost. 

His life is death — before his flesh has died. 


170 


ASHES 


XLII 

The bark sails for a moment and is tossed 
By the rough winds into eternity; 

And the mild autumn breezes presently 
Must vanish for the winter’s killing frost: 

But like the brave sport who has staked and lost, 
With only smiles for his adversity. 

Let us play hazard on a changing sea. 

And chance a wreck, no matter what the cost: 

For brief the tally of our days ordained, 

When we were ushered in this world of tears 
By the slant twist of fickle Fortune’s wheel: 

And every action is a moment gained, 

An added motion to the moving reel 

That pictures life — as the dark ending nears. 


171 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XLIII 

Consider not the substance that we feel, 

But bid Imagination stretch her wand, 

That from mysterious voids a phantom land 
Of woven thoughts her magic may reveal; 

For the racked world, hurled as a crooked wheel, 
Far through the sky by some Titanic hand, 
Escapes this pitfall, or that stormy strand, 

Only to vanish — it is nothing real: 

And, therefore, to abide where silent Thought, 
Eternal by Enchantment’s soft control, 

Broods in an aery palace of her own, 

Is better, more substantial joy, than aught, 

Supposed of substance, that deludes the soul 
To sensual pleasures — mortal when they’re 
known. 


172 


ASHES 


XLIV 

When the soft tones of a great anthem roll 
And quiver in the air — delicious pain — 

Our morbid pulse beats with the sad refrain, 
Giving a strange joy to the wakened soul: 

And when we listen to the muffled toll 

Of slow bells, warning us with solemn strain 
What futile ends our labours may attain, 

We look through dark death to a brighter goal. 

Ah, why should discord lead to harmony, 

Or why should sorrow sweetest joy entwine, 

Or why should darkness lead us to the light? 

Our reason staggers at the wrongs we see; — 

Surely, our souls must quaff etherial wine 
To pluck eternal day — from hopeless night. 


173 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XLV 

Oh, let us top our glasses with red wine 
And drown in folly sober-vested Care; 

Ho, all ye wise men! let us motley wear 
And gaily habit with the surfeit swine: 

For where goes Wisdom, if we hew the line 
And listen to her words that only bear 
Us ever deeper in a deep despair, 

Where not the feeblest ray of light may shine? 

Crown only joyful clowns with classic bays, 

And worship Folly in the world’s wide fane; 
Greet with light laughter either feast or crust: 

Toils of a life-time for a puff of praise, 

That flits tomorrow, is but labour vain — 

The weak and strong — dissolve in equal dust. 


174 


ASHES 


XLVI 

Alas, if man is only born to drain 

A cup of sorrow, measured to the brim, 

Why should he drown his anguish in a dim 
Belief that present woe is future gain? 

What law, or logic, may convince his brain 

How foolish are the hopes that dazzle him? 
Rather than know his doom, he will not trim 
One feeble ray that shows his hopes are vain. 

But if shrewd wisdom has increased our woe, 

Let us forget our sorrows while we dote 
On graceful birds, on all sweet flowers that 
bloom, 

And on the moon and stars that come and go, 

And doves, white winged, that on the warm air 
float, — 

Ah, why should they — be subject to our doom? 


175 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XL VII 

O sacred Forest of an age remote! 

The little birds, that hover in thy trees. 

Tune their unchanged immortal melodies 
To Nature’s voice that in thy realm doth float. 

And even the speckled toad, ordained to dote 
Upon the silent Moon, from squatting knees 
Peers upward, out of boggy pools, and sees 
Her guiding through the skies her silver boat. 

Alas, each day the cruel hunter sights 

His scientific tubes to slaughter all, — 

That silence may succeed the sound of song: 

But on the slippery toad his heel alights, 

While hunting luckless victims, and his fall 
Gives him to Death — that all may suffer wrong. 


176 


ASHES 


XLVIII 

Know ye the green hills whence the brooklets brawl 
Down to the valleys, where the lion’s lair, 

The leopard’s den and the serpent’s path declare 
How bounteous Nature may provide for all? 

Know ye the valleys where the lilies loll,— 

The sleepy hollows where the poppies flare 
Vermillion splendours in the golden glare 
Of glowing sunsets, — where the ripe fruits fall 

From hanging branches on huge crocodiles, — 

Where drowsily sprawling on the sun-struck rock 
The lazy lizzard blinks his beedy eyes? 

Oh, always on her children Nature smiles! 

Smiles on the wicked, smiles as if to mock 
That rogues may fatten — when a victim dies. 


177 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


XLIX 

Here, from the rose-bush to this hollyhock. 

The wily insect has prepared her net, 

Invisible, fine, sparkling with the wet 
Round jewels of the dawn, as if to mock 

The fairy fringes of Titania’s frock; — 

No hapless victim has been tempted yet 
To test that tangle, or approached to fret 
The blossoms, tempting on their thorny stalk: 

But when the gay-moth flaunts a damask wing, — 
Hunting for honey or an amorous mate, — 

Her gauzy pinions, as they touch a thread, 

Rouse the fierce ogress from her lair to spring 
Swift as a tiger. — Oh, disastrous fate, 

That fraud should live — when innocence is dead! 


178 


ASHES 


L 

Enraptured, as he sees through Heaven’s gate, 

With wonders of that other world possest, 

The Praying Mantis, his long arms addrest 
In adoration, seems to supplicate 

God’s blessing; but ferocity, innate. 

Lurks hidden in his hypocritic breast: 

Oh, what a universe! — a devil’s jest 
Where savage guile for innocence may wait: 

Good saints above! now let us laugh, the while 
We have our chuckle at old Satan’s glee; 

For, even as the insect seems to pray, 

An urchin’s mischief ends his artful guile — 

Alas, a viper stings the lad’s bare knee; 

And while we mourn — old Satan has his day. 


179 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


LI 

Observe the wisdom of the winging bee, 

That wanders in a labyrinth, ablaze 

With healthful blooms of balmy summer days, 

And garners stores against adversity: 

She gives no credit to Philosophy, 

Who feebly falters in a tangled maze 
Of sounding words, — addressed divergent ways 
To life or death, as either case may be: 

For, though each morning — when the sun awakes 
The drowsy world again to diligence — 

Brings her that closer to eternal night, 

She fails not, as the moments go, but takes 
Rich toll of life, her own life’s recompense, 

And gains fair balance — till her last long flight. 


180 


ASHES 


LII 

Far to the north where Arctic’s cold, intense, 

Sweeps over snowy ledges, glittering white, 

The hunted silver-fox awaits the night, 

Trusting his cunning to contrive defense: 

Far to the south, in the green thickets dense, 

The bird of paradise with dazzling flight, 

Seeks to elude the trapper’s eager sight, — 

His gain her loss, her death his recompense. 

For no necessity the beautiful 

Are slaughtered by the cruel of great might. — 
Beauty and virtue often lose the race. — 

What subterfuge can circumvent that rule, 

And give to them the gain of vested right, 

By which the weak — may win a doubtful case? 


181 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


LIII 

When through the breaking clouds the rainbow’s light 
Makes glad the valley at the mountain’s base. 
The drooping flowers renew their pretty grace, 
And lift their petals, fresh with raindrops bright: 

And soon it seems as if a wizard’s might 

Is working wonders with the rainbow’s rays, 
Which disappearing leave nor sign nor trace, 
Save tiny birds that balance in swift flight: 

Out of the rainbow they appear to spring, 

And dart with humming sound among the flowers, 
And flash their splendour till the day is done: 

So, when a lovely soul unfolds her wing. 

Ah, must she hover in celestial bowers, 

Only to vanish — in the vast unknown? 


182 











ASHES 


LIV 

His pomp forgotten, couched on fragrant flowers, 
Forever deaf to the discordant moan 
Of his poor dwarf, now perched on his great throne* 
The Sultan lies in state in silken bowers. 

The courtiers all have fled from the hushed towers, 
And wait on his assassin; and alone 
That witless jester wails, in monotone, 
Fantastic songs, as on the throne he cowers: — 

“ Life is a pearl — in a deep ocean rolling — 

Grant me but life and your pearls I want none; 
Sultan and subject, all have a last day. 

“ Gauzy-winged pearl of a sultan go soulling — 
Clown of his foolish fun stroll in the sun — 
Sultan or zaney — the pearl rolls away.” 


183 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


LV 

Poised as a rapier glittering in the sun, 

The deadly dragon-fly awaits his prey; 

But near him a frail rosebud gives the day 
Largess of life that she has briefly won: 

Surely the canker-moth that rose must shun, 

For like an old-time knight, as reckless and gay, 
The valiant dragon-fly disputes the way — 

Our gentle rosebud’s witless champion. 

A few short hours may span his might in war. 

And, silent on the velvet-matted moss, 
Dissolves to dust the short-lived dragon-fly: 

And the limp rose, now leaning sadly o’er 
Her fallen hero, covers him with loss 
Of her own petals — fragrant while they die. 


184 


ASHES 


LVI 

How beautiful it seems when the soft gloss 
Of summer evening on the tranquil plains 
Falls gently from the moon, while jewelled wains, 
With light surrounding, follow her across 

The darkening dome their flaming points emboss! 
But while deceiving rays transform the stains 
Of deadly contest, — and the sad remains 
Of those who strove for life but gained its loss, — 

While the charmed sight is ravished, far away 

Come sounds abhorrent,—as if hell’s woe swells,— 
From slinking jackals sobbing frightful mirth. 

And those fair night-forms, when the glare of day 
Again has poured in nooks of dells and fells, 
Mortescent crumble — to the crumbling earth- 


185 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


LVII 

All through the night the languid lily’s bells 

Sleep on the soft breeze, wafted in her glen, 
But, quickened into new life, quiver when 
The wakeful lark his happy matin swells: 

And when the rising sun lights crystal wells, 

And that sweet flower leans o’er the stream, again 

Adoring her Creator, is it in vain 

That life is only where the Spirit dwells? 

But, even as adoring worship fills 

Her fragile being, from the town, near by, 

An orphan finds and plucks — the lily’s doom: 

And torn from her cool glen amid the hills. 

To deck the sorrow of a grave, and die, 

She sighs her life away — against the tomb. 


186 


ASHES 


LVIII 

Ever the round world turns a gladdened eye 
To worship her material God that swings 
In golden splendour, and a splendour flings, 
Life-giving, from the universal sky: 

And ever as the joyous moments fly, — 

Ah, whither on their rapid sun-made wings, — 
The changing world turns from her God and brings 
Darkness intense to hide her Deity. 

And, lo, our changing souls, may worship now, 
Persuaded in a God of blessed sway, 

Sufficient to the need, benign to save; 

But on the morrow stifle every vow, 

No more submissive to that faith, and say, 

The mystery of life — turns to the grave. 


187 


THE LOVER’S ROSARY 


LIX 

What, then, is left to grace our fitful day. 

If at the last, to some vortexual cave, 

Our exhalations, vanished from the grave, 

Fade into nothing from dissolving clay? 

Is there no path, no sure immortal way. 

To lead this spirit, that the Spirit gave. 

Over the marge of Death’s Lethean wave, 

That Time may gain what Time has snatched 
away? 

Ah, whether man must vanish; or his flitting soul 
Die never; or, as evolutions roll 
Tremendous cycles, he achieve his goal — 

Absorption in the One Omnipotent — 

How shall I know? Till then let this Lament, 
Immortal, be — my living monument. 


188 













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INDEX OF POETICAL FORMS 


Page 

Ballad 

The Nautical Ballad of Ben Bo 
Bohns.85 


Ballade 

Elhn Knight 



81 

Blank Verse 

Silence and True Love 



27 

Criticism (in prose) 
Fashion in Art . 



1 

Elegy 

The Last Vigil . 



41 

Essay (in blank verse) 
Silence and True Love 



27 

Lyric 

A Tropic Idyl 



90 

Lyric Sequence 

The Ring of Love . 



7 

Narrative Poem 

Who Returns? 



117 

Ode 

To Love Divine . 



91 

Pantoum 

Bitter-Sweet . 



77 

Rhapsody 

It Must Be So . 



112 

Rondeau 

Sallie Slapped Me . 



75 

I’m Mad at the World 


. 

. 80 

Rondel 

Contradiction 



76 

Sestina 

Silence and Hope 



67 

Song 

Consequence 



89 

Sonnet 

Frailty .... 



50 

Pearls of Hope . 



69 

The Hermit 



93 

Sonnet Sequence 

The Lover’s Rosary 


• 

121 

Triolet 

Sweetest, Fairest 



71 

Valentine 

Wright .... 



79 

Vers de Societe 

Wright .... 



79 

VlLLANELLE 

Love or Wine 



71 


Note .— Those who are interested in 
tracing a more complete list of Poetie 
Forms — all by the same author — 
may consult the following Poems by 
Brookes More in the books indicated as 
follows: 

Burlesque Lyrics 

From the Valleys of the Moon 

Classic Translation 
Ovid’s Metamorphoses (blank verse) 

Epic 

An Epic of Fire (blank verse), (to be 
published). 

Epigrammatic Couplets 

The Beggar’s Vision (beginning “ My 
name is nameless ”). 

Invective Lyric 

Who shall Forgive? in “ Songs of a 
Red Cross Nurse.” 

Lyric Blank Verse — Narrative (in 
a new and original form) 

A Vestal Virgin (to be published). 

Narratives; of various kinds, as fol¬ 
lows: 

Classic Narrative 

A Vestal Virgin (to be published) 
French Dialect Narrative. 

Yvonne, in ‘‘Bar Room Ballads” 
German Dialect Narrative. 

Hans Winkelmann, in “ Sweet 
Maggie McGee.” 

Humorous Narrative. 

The Three Lucks (to be published 
in “ Bar Room Ballads ”). 

Irish Dialect. 

Sweet Maggie McGee. 

Negro Dialect. 

John Brown, African, in “ Sweet 
Maggie McGee.” 

Prose Poetry 

Introduction to “The Land of Light” 
in The Beggar’s Vision 

“ Runover ” Couplets 
The Beggar’s Vision. 


191 









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